They didn’t speak at first. The movement of the dance still lingered in her limbs, the memory of his hand steady at her waist. It pulsed in her, softer now, but insistent. When she sat on the edge of the bed, the movement made her skin feel too aware, her breath too quick.
She freed her ears and antlers from the cowl and massaged the stiff fur. That sent such a thrill of pleasure from head to middle that she let out a soft moan.
Mallow raised an eyebrow. “You alright there?”
She wrapped her arms around herself, restless and embarrassed. “I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
She sighed. “It isn’t working.”
He paused, then checked the bottle where she’d left it on the stand. “You drank it all.”
“I know. But it’s not…” She couldn’t find the words for the ache, the way her body seemed to lean toward him on its own. “It’s worse when I’m still.”
For a long moment, he only studied her. Then, slowly, he crouched beside where she sat, the firelight glancing along the edge of his jaw, the black of his hair. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “You need to understand something,” he said. “I can’t be the one to fix this for you. Not like that.”
Lain met his eyes, the words catching somewhere between a plea and a protest.
“I mean it,” he said, softer now. “You’re not in your right mind when it’s this strong. And I –” he stopped himself, exhaled. “I’m only human. So if you want me to stay, you have to let me set the line.”
The tone wasn’t cold, but he was being careful, the way he handled a blade.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she admitted.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You won’t be.” His gaze flicked briefly to the hearth, then back to her. “And… maybe you can try to ease it.”
She looked up at him, uncertain. “Ease it?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You really were raised in a tower, weren’t you?”
Lain frowned, not sure whether to be offended or embarrassed. “At the Spire, we were taught discipline. Control.”
He sat before her on his bed. “And when control fails?” he asked gently.
She hesitated. “Pray.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I think you’ve done enough praying for one lifetime.”
“Then what do I do?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, searching for words. “You let the feeling pass through you instead of fighting it. You listen to what your body wants, and then… give it that.”
She blinked, flustered. What she wanted was him, and here he was telling her she couldn’t have that. “You’re talking in riddles.”
He gave her a look that was half amusement, half sympathy. “I’m talking about knowing yourself. You don’t need anyone else to touch you to understand where the need is.”
Her breath caught. The warmth that had been building in her chest spread lower. “You mean –”
“I mean you don’t have to be afraid of it,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “Of wanting. Of being made that way.” He leaned forward, then stopped, his hands gripping his knees as if he didn’t trust them.
She reached a hand toward him. “Can you just…”
He shook his head. “I can’t. Or I won’t. Not like this. But if you want to learn, I can guide you. Just your hands, not mine. You keep control. You understand?”
Lain nodded, dazed. She wasn’t sure she actually did understand, but the calm in his tone made her want to. He moved to sit on the edge of her bed, leaving space between them, his presence careful and deliberate. He put a hand on her chest and pushed her back.
“Close your eyes,” he said quietly. “Find the warmth and follow it. Don’t chase it… just notice what answers.”
His voice was low and even, a tether against the storm in her blood. She brought a hand to her an antler, her lips parting at the feeling that tingled across her scalp. When he reached out and rested a palm lightly against the back of her hand, she almost flinched from the shock of it.
“Not there,” he murmured. He tugged her wrist down.
“Mallow,” she gasped.
He flattened her palm between her legs.
She thought her heart would explode with it, the tension like a single thread holding an anvil aloft.
“Here. Feel that? That’s you, not me.”
Lain nodded again, her breath trembling. The warmth between them was unbearable and holy, the kind of nearness that felt like prayer.
She flexed her palm against herself. A wave of pleasure left her and flowed into him through the Tuning.
“Please,” she whispered.
After a tense pause, he slipped his arm under her neck and reached around and turned her, to hold her against his chest. He dragged her hand toward herself once more and put force behind it as she pressed in. His hips swayed against her, and she felt a new part of him firming behind her.
He held her tightly, and as she played with herself he flexed his hand over hers. She wanted it, she wanted more, all of him. It was almost enough to imagine, but achingly not quite there, horribly close but so far from what she needed. She was too present, too aware.
“I don’t think it’s working,” she finally confessed, embarrassed and nearly on the verge of tears with desire.
He sighed. “I can’t touch you,” he said.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yes, you can –”
“I won’t touch you,” he clarified, and as he did so he put one hand to her shoulder, which sent a shuddering pulse through her arm. “But I can still help.” His voice dropped into a deep intimacy, just above a whisper. “Who do you usually think about, when this takes hold of you?”
The question startled her. “What?”
“When you’re burning like this,” he said, still calm, still gentle. “There’s always a name behind it. A face. Isn’t there?”
It wasn’t accusatory; it was teasing, gentle and pleasant. Lain hesitated, every instinct telling her not to answer. “I – I wouldn’t, I’m a faithful Glinnel –”
He tsked. “Then there’s definitely someone.” His hand slid from her shoulder to her elbow, giving a gentle squeeze. “Come now, Lain. Is he a Brother? Or a Sister, perhaps?”
“No, not –” she laughed a little, nervously. “Not a Sister.”
“Another Glinnel then?”
Her defenses gave way as his face swam into view. “Elder Tanel,” she said at last.
“Elder Tanel?” he said, and he flexed a little at her back, encouraging. “My, my, you are a naughty Sister, aren’t you?”
“Mallow –”
“How much of an Elder is Elder Tanel?”
“He’s… he’s thirty-six.”
Mallow laughed. “Oh, is that all?”
“He’s quite the senior Glinnel.”
“Calling thirty-six senior? How rude.”
She flushed all over, playfully pulling away from him.
“I’m only teasing.” He slid his hand down from her elbow, to rest at her ribs, where his fingers pressed into her side over her robes. “What does Elder Tanel do, in these daydreams of yours?”
“Well, he –” she swallowed. “In the… in the dream, he comes to my cell, when the bells are sleeping.”
“Oh, does he? And what happens when he finds his little Lain in the dark?”
“He sits beside me… and his voice is –” she faltered. “Soft. He touches my antlers, and then…” but she trailed off, too afraid to go on.
He was quiet for a moment before breathing a laugh behind her. “I would never have imagined that,” he said. His fingers flexed again, then rested upon her hip. “It looks like our shy little Kelthi has quite a wicked mind on her.”
“No,” she breathed, one hand coming to her mouth, feeling the heat of her cheeks. “No, I don’t.”
“Oh? No? You love to act so proper, like this Heat is such a burden on you.” He gripped her hip, pulling her against him for only a moment. She moaned into her palm. “Listen to you. You’re already coming up with all sorts of ideas.”
She inhaled. “I’m not.”
“So he’s got one hand on your antler…” he brought his hand up, first stroking her hair, then sliding over the velvet bone, and she shuddered, her legs bucking uncontrollably.
“You can’t tell me what happens next?”
She shook her head.
“Come on, you don’t know? I think I know what happens next.” He took her by the wrist once more, and brought her hand to her waist. This time, he found her waistband, and slid her fingertips into it.
Her tail flexed and writhed under her slacks. He pressed a hand to it, feeling it at her hip. “Does this want to be free?” he mumbled. She nodded feverishly. She lifted her hand to reach back for it.
He nudged her hand aside. “No, no, you’re busy. If I may.”
In a touch more intimate than anything she’d ever known, he slid his hand into her waistband and eased her tail free of the fabric.
The carefulness of the movement startled her. No one had ever touched her there with gentleness before. As a child, others had tugged her tail to tease or correct her stance, a reminder of what set her apart. But his touch wasn’t like that. It held no mockery or restraint. Instead, he caressed the scales and fur with a quiet understanding, as though he were steadying a frightened creature instead of commanding one.
All her scales came alive and she understood that to be touched without fear or scorn was what she’d been craving, all her life. She’d been forced to cover her cloven feet, wrap her ears and bind her tail, and here was Mallow, to throw her caps aside and free her tail from its confines.
She panted with pleasure, her hand sliding deeper, meeting herself, feeling for the first time her own wetness between her fingers.
“Do you want me to tell you what happens next?” he continued. She nodded, panting in his arms. “I think, after he’s got his hand on your antler, and his other brushing up your scales right… here…” He ran that same hand along the scales at her neck, drawing his fingertips along their smoothness. “I think he turns your head to the side, and growls in your ear, like this.”
Mallow brought his mouth to her ear, letting the fur caress his cheek as he breathed across the fine down. “Are you my good Kelthi Glinnel?”
She moaned, and pressed. Her legs quavered.
“So lovely. So obedient. I can’t believe I’ve spent all this time fighting to keep my hands off of you.”
He ran a finger along her ear and it flicked in pleasant instinct. She felt Tanel then, felt his mouth on hers, his beard against her face, his hand climbing to her ear beneath her veil. She heard his voice. She could even smell him, the scent of his office, parchment and wax and the lived-in scent of his robes.
Let the shoulders release.
Let the throat be open.
“This is all my doing, don’t you worry. You’ve remained so pure. So clean. Saved yourself just for me, isn’t that right?”
She moaned. “Yes.”
“Yes, of course you have. Let me reward you for it. You’ll do well and sing for me, won’t you, Sister? Yes, you will, won’t you? My favorite Glinnel, my precious Kelthi.”
Her back arched into his embrace, and he brought his hand from her hip to the base of her tines, tugging her head so gently backward.
“Sing for me, Lain. Sing for your Elder.”
She did. Her voice came bright and clear and Mallow moaned along with her as her vision whitened. Lines from the Dawn Litany rose in her thoughts like pearls released from the mouths of oysters to float to the surface of her wild keening.
Let the bones remember.
Let the blood slow.
Let the voice find root.
For a long while there was only the sound of their panting, and the quiet crackle of the hearth. The tension in her body ebbed. She became aware of his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, steady and careful, a boundary as much as a comfort.
Mallow let out a long breath against the back of her neck, his voice roughened but gentle. “There you go,” he murmured. “That’s it. Easy.”
Lain’s hand still trembled. “I didn’t mean to –”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You always apologize after you save someone, or is that just for me?”
She turned a little, catching the smile in his voice. “I didn’t save anyone.”
“Sure you did,” he said. “Yourself, this time.”
A small sound escaped her, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. The warmth between them had changed, softened into tenderness. He brushed the back of his fingers along her ear, the touch feather-light.
“Better?” he asked.
There was only a moment of the wane of her desire, the Heat arching its back inside Lain before rearing angrily as if she’d tricked it. It wanted more. It wanted everything.
But it wasn’t as furious as it had been, and instead of pacing its cage, it sat, tail twitching. “Yes. Better.”
“Good. Because I’m not fetching another bottle of that stuff. You drank nearly half my pay already.”
That startled a laugh from her. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“Please don’t,” he said, smiling into her hair. “Restraint doesn’t suit you.” Then, after a beat, quieter: “You did well, Lain.”
Her chest tightened at the gentleness in his tone. “You’re not… you don’t think I’m… wicked?”
He shifted back a little, just enough that she could see the curve of his grin. “Wicked? Saints, no. I’m proud. You finally stopped trying to see yourself as unholy for five minutes.”
She made a weak sound of protest, but he only chuckled and tugged the blanket over her shoulders. “Sleep,” he said. “Before you start confessing again.”
Lain smiled into the pillow. The warmth of him lingered beside her like an ember that refused to die. Her limbs seemed to float in the softness of afterglow, every inch of her tingling with relief, even as the Heat reminded her that there was more to be had. “Thank you, Mallow.”
He leaned close enough that his breath stirred her hair. “Goodnight, Sister.”