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Angel of Desire

By: LaSalia



Prologue

October 20th 1289

Midi-Pyrénées, France 

The moon shone bright against the solid backdrop of the night, a silent witness to the measures of the world. Like an all seeing eye, it never blinked, even as the tortured screams ceased to ring from the grand manor house upon the high hill. It never blinked, although it could not see within the mortared walls. It could only wait, patiently, while the screams began anew, laced now with terror.

One shaky voice rose above the horrified cries, raspy and fervent, but no less fearful.

"Our father that art in heaven, hallowed be thy name."

The old priest paced nervously, crossing himself at intervals as the midwife cleansed the still body of the child with rosewater. It had yet to make a sound, and he hoped it was dead. Not a very charitable thought for a man of the cloth.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

As she moved, he could see the child, between the folds of the woman's loose robe. Each glimpse of its tiny body confirmed his fears. Confirmed what he had seen when the child first slipped into this world. Confirmed its evil. God let it be dead.

"Give us thus our daily bread."

He peeked at it again, his fingers sliding against the beads of his rosary, clicking softly with each tug. The blood from its mother's womb had made the tiny body seem a mottled pink, but now that it was washed, wrapped in fine linen, its skin was a sickly white, streaked with dark blue veins. Its eyes fluttered open, staring straight at the priest, who gasped in horror at the bright red orbs that sank into his soul.

"F-forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

The child held his gaze for no longer than a second before its tiny lids sank back to its cheeks, unable to withstand the light from the two oil lamps that blazed on the walls at either side of the room. But the aged priest continued to stare at the child even after. 

The midwife was raising it to her shoulder, looking expectantly at the wasted form of the child's mother, who rested against the pillowed headboard of the great bed. Dark burgundy swatches of the finest silk spread across her lap and were draped over the huge clawed bedposts, pooling like blood on the thickly carpeted floors. To either side of the bed a small, mahogany table, with withering roses in a porcelain vase. Roses covered the walls too, pale mauve instead of burgundy, reflecting off the many gilded mirrors that lined the walls. 

The new mother shut her eyes tightly and shook her head, long sable curls bobbing against her tiny, heart shaped face. She, too, had seen the creature as it slipped from her body.

The priest sighed, relieved.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

The midwife glared, first at the priest, then at the young woman in the bed. Then the woman's husband, who had been cowering in the entryway since his wife's screams had begun, stepped to her side and placed a thick, but supportive hand on her shoulder, attempting to stare the midwife down as well he could while trembling with fear. The older woman lifted her head high. The light from the lamps flooded the hood that had covered her features, basking her noble profile, tight with anger and pain. She stroked the child's head and walked straight out the door, sparing neither the relieved parents nor the dotard priest with a backward glance. 

"Amen," the priest whispered, crossing himself once more as the child began to wail. The midwife would do her job, leaving the evil thing to the mercy of God. Or the wolves. It happens sometimes. The woman will give birth to a stillborn child, or one so deformed and hideous that it had surely been touched by the devil. Then it is the responsibility of the midwife to dispose of the creature, while he, a holy man, comforts the grieved parents and assures them that the right thing was done. He didn't expect any difficulties this night. 

The moon seemed to shine more brightly, if just for a moment, as if widening its great eye in surprise at the cloaked form of the woman dashing into the night. Although she was often hidden from view by the forest, the moon's light could penetrate even the smallest gap. She ran fast and sure, although there was no path, weaving through the ferns and bushes like a hind from a hunt. 

Finally she stopped. There, in a vast clearing, deep within the wood, the stars had sunk into the earth, twinkling in bright, undulating waves.

Walking to the edge of the small lake, the midwife glanced down at the child slumbering in her arms. She smiled gently, smoothing the wrinkles from its still too new cheeks. Carefully she set the small bundle at her feet and backed up one single step, staring intently at the wiggling child. She didn't move for a long moment, then, quite suddenly, removed her robe in one swift movement, and tossed it aside. Naked in the moonlight, her long, jet-black hair streaming down to her wide hips, she gently lifted the child into her arms again and began to wade into the water, unwrapping the swaddling as she went. 

When she was waist high, she tossed the cloth back to the shore, onto the heap of her own robe and held the child before her, bathing it first in moonlight. Gazing up at the glowing orb, her lips parted in a wide, almost feral smile, and the child began to cry in the chill of the night.

"Celina," the woman whispered, addressing the moon by her Christian name, if she had had one, and dipped her wiggling burden completely into the waters. When she lifted the child out again, it was screaming in pain. The surface of the water was only recently melted from an early frost.

Quickly the woman waded back to the shore, taking the swaddling first and wrapping the squirming child warmly. Then she donned her own robe, holding the child tightly to her breast, warming it as best she could. Finally it ceased to cry, and fell into an exhausted sleep. 

Picking her way carefully through the low branches, the woman followed a well-beaten path up into the deepest part of the forest. Within ten minutes, she reached a small cottage, with a tiny garden hewn around its edges. Once inside, she laid the child onto a soft, but small feather mattress and immediately went to the hearth. The cottage was only one room, and smelled strongly of the herbs that hung from the rafters beside an assortment of cooking utensils. Colorful woolen blankets lined the wood walls, keeping the heat inside. 

After lighting the fire and starting a pot of water to boil, the woman lifted the child gently into her arms, watching it in sleep. The child's skin was pure white, luminescent like the moon. Tiny blue veins stood out in sharp relief, like coursing rivers along its body. The fuzzy down on its crown was almost transparent, as were the lashes that fell nearly down to the soft, round cheeks. And the woman remembered the eyes, bright red like the heart of a fire. Aside from its coloring, the child seemed normal in every way. It had all ten fingers and toes. Its features were smooth and pure, touched not with even a hint of disfigurement.

The woman smiled down into the perfect, colorless face, and traced one finger along the child's round cheek. 

"Celina."

Chapter 1

October 26th 1307 Toulouse, France (18 years later)

A single shaft of light pierced through the hole in the paper panel that covered the high window. It drew all eyes to the center of the room, and to the man who stood there, beside a crude, three-legged stool. He wore the black cowl of the Dominican Order, but any who saw his face would know him for more than a lowly friar.

He had the face of an aristocrat, long and worn from worldly cares instead of pain and starvation. Thin, hard lips that could disappear when pressed firmly together in displeasure were set upon a clean-shaven jaw. A long straight nose sat above them, leading to thick, dark brows. They were not bushy, although they might have been if they were not greased down so heavily.

Then one reached the eyes. If the eyes were truly the windows to the soul, then one would see in his the wrath of God smiting sinners on the Day of Judgment.

"Bring in the accused." His voice was deep, soft even. It rumbled like thunder in the distance. 

A knight in light chain mail and a muddied white tabard, bearing his emblem, the cross of the Knights Templar, walked to the center of the room, his long black hair nearly covering the dark brown eyes which were staring down the glances of the other men who quickly avoided his gaze. When he sat on the stool, he appeared at ease, but an observant man could see how tight he held his body. He'd been listening to the screams of his brothers all night as they were forced to confess to terrible atrocities. Pierre knew they hadn't committed any of the crimes they admitted to, having known several of the men since they first became men. They had all joined the order together, giving up their lands and titles to the church in order to serve a greater purpose. Now that same church was persecuting them, and Pierre was greatly conflicted. He would not lie, no matter how they tortured him. He was the captain of his men, and if he admitted to the evils, they would always be doubted if there was a chance to recant. He was prepared to martyr himself so that the others could avoid the shame of their false confessions. He had glanced around the room and noticed that there were no torture instruments, however, and his confusion added to his anxiety.

The Inquisitor approached, his oiled brows drawn together in consternation as he prepared to lay out the accusations. He didn't like these Knights Templar, but this one in particular was the best tracker in France.

"Pierre L'Hoareau, you have been charged with heresy, sodomy and blasphemy as part of your initiation and participation with the Order of the Knights Templar. What have you to say in your defense?"

"I have never denounced my king or my savior, Jesus Christ, during my time with the Order, or before. Neither have I ever committed any deviant sexual act. Your accusations of me are false, as are the confessions you forced from my brothers through torture."

The Inquisitor pressed his lips together tightly, and the thin pink lines disappeared entirely. He nodded to the knight, who seemed so sincere. They were liars, all of them, but even liars had their purpose.

"Your fellows all confessed to their sins because they wish the forgiveness of the Church. Don't you also wish to be forgiven?"

"I have already been forgiven for my sins, all of which were committed to further the glory of God and protect the innocent. I feel no shame in my past. What about you, Inquisitor? Do the acts you commit upon these innocent knights keep you up at night? Do you think God will forgive you for the torture of his champions?"

The Inquisitor sneered, not in the least moved by the knight. But now it was time for this heathen to serve his purpose.

"Your actions have damned you, but you have the opportunity to be penitent for your sins. The Bishop has given me a task that is unique to your talents. If you can accomplish this task, then I will grant you and your men an indulgence. Your lands will be returned to you and you shall be spared the stake."

Pierre had to keep a tight rein on his emotions. This was unheard of. He was being given the opportunity to save all of his men, but they would no longer be part of the Knights Templar.

"I have not confessed."

"The confession of your compatriots is enough. I grant you forgiveness for your sins. Now, shall you accept your punishment, or accept this task in the name of your king, Phillip IV the Fair, King of Navarre and Count of Champagne and his holiness, Pope Clement V?"

Pierre was torn. He did not want forgiveness for sins he did not commit, and accepting this task would be as good as a confession. He also wished to remain a Knight Templar. However, he felt an obligation to save the men under his care, his brothers in arms. The betrayal of his king and pope had created many doubts in his mind about his chosen life, but he was not ready to leave it all behind.

"May I complete this task as a Knight Templar?"

"An order has been sent for the arrest of all Knights Templar. Continuing to wear their crest would hinder your quest. If the Order is able to redeem itself and prove its innocence, I'm sure that you will be accepted back into its ranks."

It was the best answer the Inquisitor could give, since he did not wish to let this man know that King Phillip intended the complete suppression of the Knights Templar. Letting him know the king's intentions might change his mind, and neither the king nor the pope wanted to send any of their own men on such a dangerous mission. They wanted someone expendable. Someone who they could make disappear afterwards.

Pierre watched the Inquisitor's face while he contemplated his decision. The other man gave no clues in his stony expression, so Pierre had nothing but his gut to go on. His gut told him to just let them kill him. His sense of honor, however, would not rest. If he could gain a pardon for the others, would it matter if he allowed himself to be dishonored this way? His men had already confessed lied to protect their hides. He knew God would forgive them, they were tortured beyond their ability to reason. He, however, would be making a calculated decision. Would God forgive the deliberate lie? Was he prepared to suffer the consequences for his men? Coming to his decision, he answered the Inquisitor, his dark eyes nearly turning black as he spoke.

"I will take this quest, in honor of our king and pope, and to receive indulgences for my fellow knights."

The Inquisitor's voice showed no emotion as he accepted Pierre's confession. He didn't notice how Pierre didn't actually ask for an indulgence for himself. He began to explain what Pierre would be required to do.

"We have received a disturbing report from a friar at a local village. Many years ago, as the priest to a wealthy keep, he delivered the demon child of an aristocratic lord. He left it up to the midwife to dispose of the child, as he expected her to. But he later discovered that the midwife kept the child. He has become the friar to that province and has spent nearly a year in the village. He believes that the midwife is a witch, who has harnessed the demon child's powers to do evil. You, Pierre L'Hoareau, with the help of your former knights, need to capture the witch and destroy the demon. Once she has been delivered to us, we will grant you all indulgences and return your lands."

Pierre nodded in understanding. It was a noble quest. He and his knights would normally feel honored to be chosen for such a task. He listened patiently while he received directions to the town. Then he was led to his men in their cell, who watched their commander warily. They were looking for the beaten expression that told them he had been broken. Instead, they saw the determination in his square set jaw, and hope filled them as he explained how they would all be saved from the fires of this world and the next.

********************************

Pierre and his men had been riding for days. When they reached the village, near midnight, they went straight to the small, new looking chapel at the outskirts of the other structures. It seemed strange, apart from everything else, both in its placement and its newer construction. Pierre got the feeling that this town had not been happy to welcome the chapel and its friar. The man himself, however, was positively ecstatic to see them. He had them all put up in the adjoining barn, and the former knights wearily slept.

The first to awake, Pierre felt the dust of the long days ride clinging grimily to his skin. He wanted to wash, badly. Taking his single change of clothes, he slipped out of the barn. He headed into the forest, having seen a small river that wound into the tree line as they journeyed in. The village used a well as their source of clean water, but Pierre was far too dirty to wash in a bucket. He picked his way carefully through the brush, along a well worn game trail. He knew it would eventually lead to a water source. Moving silently, he noticed the thinning foliage and deduced he must be coming up on a clearing. When he reached the edge of the trees he found the river. The water tumbled over a pile of rocks, creating a small waterfall and a large pool before winding back into the forest. In the center of the pool was a barely surfaced, flat stone, covered in soft, green moss. Pierre smiled with delight. This would be a perfect place to wash off the dust of the road. Before he stepped out into the clearing, though, something caught his eye. A ripple under the water and a flash of something white, and very large. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, unsure what kind of creature would be living in such a shallow spot. When it surfaced, he stood gaping in awe. It was a woman. Perhaps an angel. 

The water sparkled off of her pale, milk white skin in the soft dawn light, making her seem to glow. She was young, with high, firm breasts and a firm backside attached to legs that seemed to go on forever. Pierre found that he was nearly panting, watching her. The girl was everything he had ever dreamed about missing when he took his vow of chastity when entering the order. Long, baby blond hair was plastered to her body and richly pink lips curved into a gentle smile as she lay down on the mossy rock. His breath caught in his throat when she brought her knees apart and gently stroked the pale fuzz between her legs. It took Pierre several moments to remember to begin breathing again as he watched the angel gently caress herself. One hand cupped her breast while the other fondled her mound. When she spread her legs a little wider, he could see her inner labia was as rosy as her mouth, and finally he began to gasp for air. The grip on his sword hilt was turning his knuckles whites and he released it, pausing for a moment as he considered his sudden compulsion to open his breeches. Listening to the silent wood around him, Pierre decided to chance it. Never once taking his eyes from her, Pierre undid the fastenings to his breeches and slipped his already rigid cock into his hands. He shuddered as the rough skin of his hand made contact with the silken texture of his shaft and began to slowly thrust, while watching the gorgeous creature before him.

Faint gasps and mewls of delight reached him from across the clearing and his cock twitched in response. She was tracing the inner folds of her lips with one finger, dancing it around her swelling clit. Her labia was growing puffy with her arousal. Pierre felt his mouth and eyes actually water with the desire to taste her. His sexual experiences were limited to a single tavern wench who had initiated the lord's youngest son in the art of love. Her tutelage, however, was extensive, and had left him with a fine appreciation for the female form. Giving up women had been the hardest vow he had made, but he was a knight in heart, as well as name, and knew he would want to bed a wife, not whores. As the seventh son of a minor lord, he had little to offer a woman in marriage, and had concluded early on that matrimony would not have been in his future anyhow.

Finally, the girl's lazy fingers reached her engorged clit and flicked it gently. He watched her body arch in pleasure and she cried out softly into the still air. He nearly came right then, but the long years of self pleasure had given him excellent control over his desires. He would not release until he was ready. She took the tight nub between her thumb and forefinger and gently rolled it, whimpering in pleasure. Then she raised her hand and put one finger into her wet, pink mouth and sucked. A shudder ran down Pierre's spine, and his balls tightened painfully. Taking her moistened finger, she lowered it to her silken mound and slid it inside her tight opening. She threw her head back in a moan and Pierre had to fight the urge to close his eyes with the intense pleasure he felt as he watched. He had never watched a woman pleasure herself, had not, in fact, even known that they did. Her finger slid in and out of her glistening sheath, her hips bucking wildly into her hand as she ground against herself. 


Angel of Desire Ch. 02



Celina broke into a frantic run, snatching her linen gown before darting into the forest. She could hear the man crashing through the woods after her. Her heart was pounding madly. No one ever came into the forest, even though the river ran straight into it. The villagers all believed it was haunted. The secluded waterfall had been her haven since she was ten and first started venturing out on her own. Having her special place discovered, and being watched while she... while she... Well, she felt violated. 

She thought the man had been touching himself while she stroked her own passions, and she greatly feared what would happen if he caught her. Her mother had warned her several times of what men were capable of. It didn't matter that they all thought she was demon spawn, cursed, that there were even whispers that any man who touched her would have his prick fall off. The leering stares of the men at the village had begun as soon as she developed breasts at twelve, and at least two men had tried to corner her behind a barn before Celina reached 16 years old. That's when her mother began spreading the rumors about men's prick's falling off, but it didn't seem to work. When a group of young boys surrounded her one night on her way home, daring each other to see if they would indeed lose their cock, she decided that if she made it away, she would start carrying a knife. Thankfully the butcher heard her screams, running over to see what the commotion was, and she was able to escape into the forest.

This time, however, she was without her knife, expecting to be safe within the shadow of tall oaks in the forest. It was a mistake, but she had little time to dwell as she heard the man gaining on her. Celina was small, lithe, and able to cut through the foliage much easier than the larger man. That didn't take into account his longer legs or the huge sword he was cutting the thick branches with. He was certain to catch her before she made it to the cottage, and if not, he would obviously catch her once she was within. 

The location of her mother's cottage was a well guarded secret. The villagers believed her to be a witch. They had no qualms purchasing her potions and brews to heal their various ailments, nor tying to obtain curses and love potions, but they would never consider protecting her if the local friar rallied for an angry mob. They'd bring their torches and pitchforks and burn her at the stake. Then they'd find another healer to betray. She couldn't lead him to her home. She had to think fast.

Celina turned away from the path that would lead her to the cottage, and made her way deeper into the wood. She heard the man cursing at her from only an arm's length away now, and doubled her speed, desperate to reach the clearing she knew was only a few meters ahead. When she finally saw the brighter light that signaled a break in the tree line she nearly shouted in triumph. Her shout was cut short as she felt thick fingers sliding through her long hair. Ducking her head she yanked her hair from his reach and leapt onto a fallen log. The long stretch of grass land was misleading. She carefully made her way through, using her memory more than her eyes to guide her to the flat, grassless spots that dotted the field. 

The man came charging through the tree line and into the field. His string of curses became much more adamant then. Celina paused to look back at him, smiling as she saw he was standing about half a meter deep in thick peat. She wished she could see his face, but he was too far for her to focus on any details. She stood there, watching him struggle to move even a few steps. There was little danger of him sinking completely, as the bog was only deep in the very center. However, she knew that a few men had died from being unable to climb out of the muck and being stuck for days. Slowly, carefully, she made her way back towards him. There was a low hanging branch not far above him. She knew that if she could break the branch just a little, it would give him enough leverage to pull free, just in case.

It didn't matter that he would have likely slit her throat when he caught her, she couldn't leave a man to die in the bog. As Celina approached, Pierre's body stilled its struggles. He watched the demon as she approached. He felt fear creeping down his spine, unsure what her intentions were. She was beautiful, enticing, and he had fallen for her charms in an instant. He couldn't believe that he had thought her an angel. It was so obvious now. Her red eyes seemed to glow as she came towards him. She had led him into this treacherous bog, and now was closing in to destroy him. About a meter away, just out of his reach, she circled him. He watched her naked body, only barely covered by the linen gown she clutched to her bosom. In spite of his trepidations, he felt his cock stir at the sight, remembering her fingers as they'd touched her pale body. She remained just out of his reach, until she was perched back in the safety of the woods and solid ground. For a minute, he was terrified she would leave him there to die of thirst in the sticky marsh. His legs were stuck fast, and he wasn't sure he could remove them. He had no leverage and couldn't use his hands or risk getting them stuck as well. He knew they were deep enough into the forest that no one would hear him calling. His sharp eyes saw a boot sticking out of the middle of the bog, and knew it had claimed men's lives before.

"Kill me now, demon, or I vow I shall escape and hunt you down."

Celina watched him with interest. He must be caught worse than she thought if he was hoping she'd give him a quick death. It made her at once glad that she had decided to rescue him, and afraid of what would happen once she did. Quickly she put her gown on, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her pale, naked body. When she was covered, she began to climb the tree.

Pierre was confused. He watched her scramble up a large tree and edge out onto a low branch. Holding on to another branch she began to jump up and down. At first he thought she was just trying to torment him by forcing him to watch her ample breasts jiggle above him. Then he heard a creak, and realized she was trying to break the branch. It was a heavy one, and he thought she meant to crush him, knock him out perhaps, pushing him down farther into the bog so that he would drown in the sticky peat. It would not be a pleasant way to die.

Finally, the branch gave, and the loud crack was the only warning either of them had. Celina jumped off the branch and onto the ground, and Pierre put his arms over his head to cushion the blow. When the branch struck him, he nearly laughed out loud. The light tap on his forearm was a far cry from the crashing punch he had been expecting. He opened his eyes to see the branch had only broken half way through. He should have expected this, honestly. The wood was still alive and pliable, not a good choice for snapping it off. He didn't see the demon anywhere. She must have run off when she realized that her plan to kill him had failed. She'd also given him the means to save himself, as the branch was still firmly attached to the tree.

Celina hid behind a thick oak just long enough to be sure he would get free of the bog, then raced through the woods to the path to the cottage. When she got there, she listened carefully, noting that the small, one room building was empty. Her mother was still in the village. Celina drew some water from the pump to fill the small wash basin and put a kettle of water on the stove. Although she had bathed in the lake, running through the woods had made her sweaty, and there were a few twigs stuck in her hair. She felt lucky that she hadn't scraped her bare feet on anything. She had well developed soles, but she'd finally taken to wearing shoes when she went into the village, and her calluses were beginning to thin out. Once the kettle began to rumble, she took it off before it could boil and added the hot water to the rest of the bucket. She pulled the twigs from her hair and combed the pale, platinum locks with a moistened brush, catching any stray pieces of dirt in the process. Standing in the now warm water, she took a cloth and wiped the sweat from her body, letting her feet soak at the same time. The feeling of her hands smoothing over her skin reminded her of the man who was probably looking for her now. She would have to be careful not to be noticed next time she went to the village. She was certain he was staying there, there wasn't much else in this area. She hoped he was just passing through, however, and would be put off by the rumors surrounding her, forgetting his sworn vengeance.

Finishing her bath, she donned a new dress and pulled her cloak from its hook by the door. The thin hooded cape was not designed for warmth. Celina's mother had made it for her to protect her fragile skin from the sun. The lightweight navy material draped over her hair and shoulders, tied with a black, satin ribbon at her milky throat. She loved it, it was her most prized possession. In addition to hiding her from the sun's light, it also allowed her to go through the village without gaining as much attention. It wasn't that people didn't know it was her, but it wasn't as jarring a sight as her pale blond hair and ivory skin, and people were able to ignore her, if they put their minds to it. The whole village knew she lived with the witch, and she frequently had to run errands. The cloak offered her the option of being one of the crowd.

There were no errands to run today, but Celina was still upset by her meeting with the man in the woods. She wanted her mother. She had no idea when she would be back. One of the women, the wife of a shopkeeper, was having a particularly difficult time with her fifth pregnancy. She was barely seven months along, and the baby had tried to come twice already. Celina's mother had only just been able to stop the early labors, and had warned her to stay in bed until the child was born. With four other little ones to watch over, and a very demanding husband, the woman had simply smiled in thanks and paid the fee. If she'd gone into labor again, Celina was certain her mother would allow the early delivery, even if it meant the child might die. It put too much strain on the mother to keep forcing her body to hold the tiny life AND work herself to the bone every day. Her mother had angrily complained to Celina that someone should tell her husband to leave her the hell alone.

When she reached the outskirts of the village, she could hear a woman screaming, and knew her guess had been correct. Celina rushed to the shop only to be met by the man whose wife and child might be at death's door. He glared at her, as if this was all her fault, but moved away from the landing that leads to the stairs and the small apartment above. When she walked in, she noticed immediately that things were not as they should be.

Celina's mother was standing over the woman with a long, curved knife. When she saw her adopted daughter in the entry, she sighed with relief and gestured for her to stand near the bed.

"Celina, the baby is breech and it's determined to come today. I need to cut it out, before it rips its mother in half."

Celina nodded and immediately stood at the head of the bed, holding the woman's hands both comfortingly and firmly. She shopkeeper's wife was wailing in pain and fear. Her eyes rolled back in her head, but before they did, she noticed the dilated pupils. Her mother had chanced giving her some herbs to dull the pain. In spite of that, she was obviously still in a lot of pain. Celina now realized why the shopkeeper had allowed her to come up. Everyone in town knew that this child would likely kill his wife, and no one in town wanted anything to do with it. Let the witch and her demon deal in death. They could hang for it later.

Celina's mother steadied her hand and climbed onto the bed, sitting on the woman's legs. Celina held the woman as still as she could. In spite of their best efforts, both women were nearly knocked off the bed as the pregnant woman bucked wildly when the knife made its first slice. Thankfully, she passed out then, and was still but for a few twitches. Celina watched as her mother's face twisted in intense concentration. It was essential that she save the woman's life, and if the child survived as well, it would be a miracle. If both died, they would likely have to flee before the night was out. Carefully she opened the woman's womb and Celina left the woman's side to get two towels and the water from the basin. It was cold, but that couldn't be helped. When the child finally slipped from the woman's gutted stomach, it moved feebly, but did not cry. Her mother handed the child to her without a word, and went right back to the woman.

Celina wrapped the child in the absorbent cloth and wiped the mucus from its lips and face with a dampened cloth. The woman had a gaggle of girls, and the husband had been hoping for a son. Peeking under the towel, she saw that this child was, indeed, a male. Maybe that would satisfy the shopkeeper, but she doubted it. When the child still didn't draw breath, Celina put her mouth over the child's nose and lips and blew. It took five such breaths, but finally he let out a brief wail. Celina heard her mother sigh in relief. If the boy could breathe on his own, there was a good chance he would live.

Celina washed the child's body, the cold water drawing a few more weak howls of protest, then tied his umbilical cord and wrapped him in a soft, new blanket. She rocked him softly while she watched her mother with the woman. She hadn't immediately sewn her back up. She had taken a very small blade and held it in her hands, with the sharp side in her own palm. Feeling with her fingers, she sought out the small tubes that connected a woman's womb to the small sacs. The witch didn't know exactly what the sacs were, but she knew they had something to do with reproduction. She was aware that a man's balls held his seed, so these were probably similar. One man she had treated for a knife wound to his sac had had the tubes leading from them to his cock severed. He was one of those men who had a wife who was constantly pregnant. After the injury, she'd stopped conceiving. She prayed to the Goddess that it would work the same for this woman, since she couldn't slice the woman's husband. Another baby would surely kill her.

Once she'd severed both the tubes, she removed the afterbirth and sewed the opening up as tightly as she dared. She watched her daughter with the baby and had a twinge of regret that she would never see any grandchildren from her angel. The men of this world would never accept her, except to use her brutally. While she mixed a powerful potion to keep the woman too drowsy to do any work and tear the stitches, but not so much that she couldn't nurse the infant, she yet again worried about her lovely Celina. 

The girl was so bright, and talented. In spite of discovering that her daughter had vision that lacked the finer details of normal sight, there were few things that Celina was unable to do. She sewed by feel, she used a reading stone purchased from a traveling merchant to read and write, and had even learned to ride a horse. She used her other senses, particularly smell and touch, when practicing her medicinal skills. She was remarkable, and worthy of much more than this small village could offer her. But moving to a big city would surely result in some fanatic rounding up a mob and stoning the "abomination." It was hard enough to protect her here, where the people feared the wrath of a witch, as well as the haunting forest in which they lived. It was safer here, but so dreadfully limiting. She knew one day Celina would strike out on her own, and she greatly feared that would be the last time she saw her child.

When the woman awoke and saw her living, breathing baby boy, she sighed in relief. When she was told that the birth had damaged her womb and she would likely never conceive again, there was no remorse on her face. She couldn't even feign resignation. It was pure elation. Celina's mother nodded knowingly and accepted the stumbling thanks.

"Alestra, thank you! For everything! I know it was you, thank you, thank you!"

Celina handed her the precious bundle, and the woman watched her with a mixture of gratitude and distress. She was considered unlucky, and rarely assisted in births as a result. Celina knew that from this day on, any misfortune this child had would forever be attributed to the demon that had assisted his birth. Even normal things like childhood illness and acne would be blamed on her. Celina decided at once that she didn't care, so long as he lived. It would be a tribute to her true nature, if he died in bed an old man.

Alestra gave the woman strict instructions to stay in bed and take the medicine twice a day. She repeated the instructions to the woman's husband, emphasizing that if she left the bed for any reason besides relieving herself, she would likely rupture, and his son would surely die. The pride in his eyes at hearing he had a son was enough to reassure the women that he would leave the woman to heal. He wouldn't do anything to risk his boy.

Once they had received payment, the women went to the village well and drew water for much needed drinks. Celina's mother handed her a cup from her medicine pouch, rather than letting Celina use the cups that were tied to the well. The other villagers had made it clear early on that they did not like the demon drinking from their well. This was the compromise they had made. Celina didn't touch anything that touched the water, she used her own cup. After a long drink, Celina asked her mother the question that had been burning in her since she saw the child born.

"Do you really think she will be barren now?"

Alestra contemplated the bucket while pouring a second cup for herself.

"I hope so."

Celina watched her mother drink and accepted her answer. It was never a certain thing any time you messed with the forces of life and death. Only God, or the Goddess, could ultimately choose which. Mere mortals could only do their best, and pray. Celina decided then that she would do just that. She gave her mother a hug, choosing not to bother her with the story of the man who she'd stumbled upon in the woods. Just being together had given her the comfort she needed, and she didn't want her mother to worry and forbid her from going into the forest alone. She had little enough time to herself as it was. They parted, and Celina made her way to the small chapel at the outskirts of town. The friar there made no secret of his fear and hatred for her, but the building itself was beautiful, and she felt closer to God there. The small, stained glass windows threw rainbows of light on her upturned face, and made her prayers feel all the more reverent. Later, when it was night, she would slip into the moonlight and appeal to the Goddess as well.

For once, the friar did not cross himself as she entered and sank into one of the front pews, the light from the windows throwing dappled colors on her silhouette and the large, metal cross hanging on the wall. She thought this was somewhat odd, but didn't make much of it. He could just be distracted, or perhaps had finally decided she wasn't evil incarnate. It should have raised her alarm, however, when he rushed from the room. Instead, she simply continued to kneel, her lips moving soundlessly as she prayed for the woman's quick recovery, the health of her child, and mostly for her womb to be barren.

When she opened her eyes again, she gasped, the peat clad legs of a man filling her vision. She lifted her gaze and saw a very, very angry face. He was close enough that she could focus on his features. If he hadn't been so furious, she would have thought him handsome, his long black hair falling into his blazing, dark brown eyes. The finely shaped raven brows were furrowed, his straight, narrow nose curled, and his mouth was hard with rage. She took it all in a blink, her body responding faster than she could have imagined, sliding sideways and wiggling out of the pew and making a mad dash for the door. She only made it a few meters out of the chapel, her hood flying off her head, when she slid to a halt, falling in the soft dirt of the road, nearly at the feet of several more knights. They all gaped in surprise at the sight of her pale skin and hair, and one actually trembled when his blue eyes made contact with her red ones. 




Angel of Desire Ch. 02



She didn't stay on the ground long, clamoring to her feet and sprinting for the woods. It was a lucky thing. The other men had been paralyzed with shock, but the other knight, she could hear his booted feet pounding after her, his shout of anger, rallying his men to action. From the corner of her eye she saw several men who were leaving the tavern take chase as well. They seemed to sense she was making for the forest, and tried to cut her off.

Celina barely heard her mother calling to her. She was already in the woods, just behind the trees. Celina altered her direction slightly and reached her mother mere seconds before the men closed in on them. The women were quick, weaving through the brush, but the drunk men were near oblivious to the scratches of the foliage, and were not slowed much. They managed to stay a few steps behind the fleeing women even as they went deeper into the woods. Celina's mother, panting for breath, came to a sudden decision. She pulled her knife from her belt and urged Celina to keep running.

"Go, my darling. I'll hold them off. You must flee."

Celina tried to argue, but when her mother stopped and turned to meet their pursuers, she couldn't muster the courage to defy her mother's order. She kept running, not paying attention to anything other than the clearest path, until she heard Alestra scream. There was no one else crashing after her, she was completely alone. She knew that escape now would be easy, but when her mother screamed again, she couldn't run any more. Celina knew Alestra wasn't her real mother. She'd been told how her aristocratic family had given her to the midwife to be disposed of because of her frightening appearance. In a way, it made the woman even more her mother that she had chosen to take on such a challenging child, chosen to burden herself and become labeled as the mother of a demon. The great sacrifices Alestra had made for her bound them closer than any blood ties. She simply couldn't leave her to take the full wrath of the drunk men and the angry knights. Celina pulled her own knife from her boot and slowly traced her steps back to where her mother had made her stand. When the trees cleared enough for her to see the scene, she was frozen in shock.

The knights were nowhere to be seen, but the five drunken men who had joined the chase had grabbed Alestra and ripped her clothes from her body. One man was busy pumping between her legs while another two held her to the ground, twisting and pinching her exposed nipples cruelly. Another man was thrusting his fingers into her mouth, trying to pry her jaw open, his knees straddling her head and his fat, ugly cock pressing towards her lips. The last man was cheering them all on, his own cock in his hands as he stroked himself.

"Yeah! Fuck that witch good boys! She's finally getting what's coming to her! Whores herself out to the devil but won't give the rest of us the time of day! Pound that pussy, pound it, pound it!"

The sickening chant was taken up by the two men holding her mother to the ground. Celina was finally shaken out of her shock, drawing her knife from her boot and charging at the man who was thrusting between her beloved mother's kicking thighs. She sunk the blade deeply into his shoulder and he let out a howl of pain. Before she could do much damage, however, the man who had been cheering grabbed her from behind and squeezed her wrist viciously until the knife fell from her hands. The man raping Alestra threw a thankful glance back at his buddy and then resumed his attack. She briefly wished she'd gotten a longer knife, but didn't have time to think much about her failed rescue attempt. The man held her hands tightly behind her back and the two men who had been assaulting her mother's breasts left her and were now advancing towards her. The man holding her whispered in her ear, his hot, rancid breath assailing her nostrils.

"Now we'll find out if our cocks fall off, won't we demon? You shouldn't have denied us before, we might have gone easy on you now."

Celina's eyes grew wide with horror as she realized these men were the boys who had tried, and failed, to rape her those many years ago. The group had always been trouble makers, but the village had laughed them off and called them high spirited. It seemed she was about to become yet another victim of their high spirits.

Celina screamed, shouting for help, but the men laughed, enjoying her panic. When they tore her beloved cloak, tears filled her red eyes. The dress soon followed, and she was left standing in nothing but her boots, her hands held behind her body, forcing her breasts to jut out proudly. She whimpered in fear when she saw the way the men's mouths watered at the sight of the large, pale globes, topped with a round, pale pink nipple. The man behind her was grinding his pelvis against her buttocks, and the other two rushed forward to claim her breasts. One latched his mouth on a nipple, sucking and licking her, while the other cupped and fondled it. She gasped in surprise, the sensation shooting like lightning through her body, sending a jolt straight to her moistening pussy. She couldn't believe these men's rough handling was causing her body to respond, and the deep blush of shame covered nearly her whole body. It wasn't helping that she could still hear the other men grunting as they pummeled her mother's body, her screams now muffled by one man's cock.

One of Celina's attackers shoved his fingers roughly between her legs, laughing when he found her wet. He left off twisting her nipple and kneeled between her legs, lifting one shaky limb over his shoulder and using his hands to spread her pussy lips. She tried to wrench herself away, kicking her legs, but the men just held her tighter. In spite of her desperate struggles, she was unable to break free. The man between her legs licked her clit and she cried out, both in shock and surprised pleasure. When he inserted one thick, grubby finger into her tight sheath she couldn't stop her body from gripping it tightly. Her sobs mixed with moans as he slowly began to pump her pussy, licking her clit while the other men held her tight, one still sucking a nipple vigorously.

Celina's body was growing tighter as their hands pushed her closer to orgasm. She was fighting the pleasure that was washing over her, but it was a losing battle. The other men had emptied themselves into Alestra, her bruised and battered body still shoved roughly into the ground. She watched, heartbroken, as her daughter was ravaged by the men. Just when she was certain she was going to cum, Celina felt the man's fingers leave her body. She opened her eyes as she felt him hike her leg higher, actually lifting her off the ground as he raised her body, positioning his cock to impale her. She redoubled her struggles, but she could do no more than jiggle her body enticingly. They laughed as his cock touched her open lips, and she closed her eyes again, readying herself for the pain of his entry. It never came.

She heard shouts and the dull thud of flesh striking flesh. She opened her eyes to see the knights had burst upon the scene, and they were not happy about it. It took less than a minute for the knights to subdue the drunk men, and Celina took the opportunity to crawl to her mother's side, wrapping herself protectively around the abused woman. When the leader, his boots still flaked with bog mud, stood before them, she boldly raised her eyes to meet his. His gaze was still hard as steel, but there was something else there. Lust. She could see it clearly, and worried that she had jumped from the cauldron and into the fire. But he shrugged out of his cloak and tunic and offered it to them. Celina quickly donned the tunic and covered her mother's naked body with the cloak. She struggled to rise, and Celina helped her as much as she could.

"Tie these men up, they have defiled themselves."

Celina's lips twitched, and she struggled not to frown. Defiled themselves???? Her anger grew when one of her attackers tried to defend himself.

"It wasn't our fault! The witch cast a spell on us, and then she called the demon, which enchanted us more!"

The knights looked at one another and nodded silently. Celina felt herself shaking with rage, but her mother's hand on her shoulder calmed her somewhat. Arguing now would be useless, and any show of anger might increase the men's fear of them. Better to remain docile and wait for the opportunity to escape.

The men were unbound and the rope was instead used to tie Celina and Alestra, their hands behind their backs and then the rope held firmly by a knight each. Celina found she was being led by the leader, and she couldn't quite force herself to be as fearful as she was before. The other men had raped her mother and assaulted her. Afterwards they would surely have stone them both. The knights would probably stone them as well, but at least the sexual attack was over.

As they left the cover of the forest, Celina saw the friar grinning madly, bible clutched to his chest, his eyes gleaming beneath his hooded cowl. Suddenly she realized who these knights were. They were holy knights, sent by the church to capture the demon and witch. Suddenly her terror doubled, as she realized they now faced torture and likely would be burned at the stake. 

"Saints be praised! You caught them! Finally this village can be cleansed of the evil that has assailed it for years!"

The lead knight made a small bow to the friar, then proceeded to ignore him, making his way back to the chapel and the barn. The villagers watched, strangely subdued. A few wore nasty grins, but many seemed sincerely disturbed to watch the two battered women being dragged away from the town. The knights all mounted their horses, lifting both women to sit in front of the men leading them, then rode away from the village without another word.

Pierre was elated. They'd captured the witch and the demon girl. Now they could all be given their indulgence and return to the world as free men. They would no longer be Knights Templar, but that wouldn't stop Pierre from continuing his mission to serve the church and protect the innocent. His eyes lowered to the pale blond head that rested against his chest while they rode. She certainly looked innocent, but watching her writhe against the hands and mouths of the village men had dispelled any notions of innocence from his mind. Having watched as she pleasured herself had been nothing compared to watching her whore herself in order to gain her freedom. The witch, too, had used her wiles to bewitch the men. They would have to take great care. The knights had all been celibate for years. The reverence people gave them as well as the red crosses blazoned on their tunics had always served as a reminder to keep their passions in check. Now, however, they were no longer holy knights, and had been stripped of their sacred tunics. His men had already begun eyeing the barely clad women with lust in their eyes. Pierre, too, was holding himself back from barely controlled desire. His erection rubbed painfully against the girl's backside with every jolt of the horse.

After they set several miles between themselves and the town Pierre had them stop to make camp. They silently ate their rations, relieved themselves, then climbed back onto the horses, riding until nightfall. The women never uttered a word the entire time. When they finally made camp for the night, everyone was exhausted. The men practically fell into their sleeping pallets and the women were left tied to Pierre's belt, so that he would feel it if they tried to move.

When their breathing turned to loud snores, Celina and Alestra turned their backs to one another and began to slowly work the knots of one another's bindings.



Angel of Desire Ch. 03



Pierre was having trouble sleeping. It wasn't the hard, cold ground, he'd slept on far worse before. It was the image of the demon girl as she was ravaged by the town folk. His cock was painfully hard, but even that wasn't what plagued him the most. The more he played the scene in his mind, the less he was certain that the men had been bewitched. 

It was hard to tell with the witch, the men had finished with her, and her eyes were closed when he and his knights had burst upon the scene. Watching as she walked away, and seeing the bruises that had soon formed on her body, it had become obvious that the men had been rough. If she had cast a spell on them, making them desire her so that she could gain her freedom, wouldn't she have made them use her more gently?

He knew some women liked rough sex. Sex with more than one man was inevitably going to be more forceful than with one. However, the woman had acted genuinely brutalized. Pierre was familiar with rape victims, having saved several in his career as a Knight Templar. She showed all the signs during their long ride. She shrank from all the men, jerking away from physical contact, and when Pierre had spoken loudly as they broke camp the first time, she'd nearly jumped a foot in the air.

The demon girl showed similar signs, but was even worse. Her worry for the witch was obvious, and added to his certainty that something wasn't as it seemed. As she'd ridden stiffly against his chest, her eyes had stared blankly at the scenery. When they stopped, she'd barely fluttered an eyelid. The two of them seemed shell shocked.

When he rolled on his mat, to get a better look at his captives, he noticed the slight, restless movements. It seemed they weren't sleeping well either. Biting back a curse, he rose, noting that the women's bodies became instantly rigid when they sensed his movement. Sitting beside them, facing the witch, he took a deep breath of the still night air. No one spoke, at first, but finally he got his courage.

"Are you injured?"

It was the most pathetic attempt at trying to ask if they had been assaulted against their will, and he knew it. The demon snorted. He was glad he could not see her burning red eyes. The witch finally answered, her voice haughty, yet strained.

"Yes, sir knight. We are injured. In both body and mind. You saw what happened. You saw what those men did to my daughter..."

Her voice choked up. Pierre grit his teeth, willing himself to not be swayed by words alone. He found it immediately strange that the witch would only refer to the assault on the demon, her daughter, when it had seemed obvious to him that the witch had been used far worse by their attackers.

"It was a poor plot, then, to bewitch those men, in order to gain your freedom?"

The questioning tone of his voice slipped out without his consent. He'd meant the words to be an accusation. Instead, he betrayed his doubt. The daughter latched on to his doubt with feral teeth, slaying him with her vicious tongue.

"Plot? Bewitch!?!? I would not have let those men touch me with a broom! I would not have let them touch me to save my life! I tried to kill the one who was raping my mother, or did you not notice the gaping wound in the leader's back?"

Pierre had noticed, and that was why he had originally ordered the men to be bound. After their pathetic excuses of being ensorcelled, he wrote it off as the first plan which had obviously failed. Perhaps he was wrong, and it had been the only plan.

"Hush, Celina. You need to rest. I'm sure we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and you will need to be fit. If you will leave us to our sleep, sir knight?"

Pierre stared in surprise at the witch. She had admitted they were harmed, had begun to admonish him, yet was now brushing him off. The demon, who the witch had referred to as Celina, was not interested in rest, it seemed.

"I will not be able to rest, not for one minute of one day until I see those men draw their last breaths. They've tormented us for years, and until this knightshowed up, I had kept us safe from them. They will pay, mother, I swear it, by God and heaven. They will pay for what they did to you."

The weary breath of the witch interrupted his deep shock that the demon had called upon the Almighty to witness her vow.

"Celina, love, I am an old woman. It was... it was horrible..."

Alestra closed her eyes, trying to block the memories. The only thing that did it was the blazing anger that rose to the front when she pictured the young, drunk villagers with their dirty hands on her daughter's virgin skin.

"But I will survive it. I only wish I could avenge you. They took your innocence. My baby... I couldn't protect you..."

The witch was sobbing now, leaning against her daughter's back, wracked with heaving breaths. Celina tried to console her, and Pierre could see the glistening tears as they slid off the demon's pale alabaster cheeks.

"Hush, mama, hush! They didn't, I swear! He... he only put his f-fingers in me..."

She took a quick glance at Pierre before her whole body was consumed with a deep rosy flush. He couldn't believe his ears. The demon actually claimed to be a virgin?

"It doesn't matter, my child. You will never be the innocent you were before. I couldn't protect you then. I will not fail you again."

Pierre couldn't stand it any longer. He was a knight, sworn to protect the innocent. This demon, even if she were the spawn of the devil, even if sin were written in her very bones, she had not committed any evil that he knew, and he could not stand to see such injustice, as rape, go unpunished. He came to the decision that he knew would finally allow him to rest through the remainder of the night: he would go back to the village and see the men punished for their crime.

Before he could tell the women as much Pierre felt his face suddenly sprayed with clumps of dirt. He closed his eyes tightly and shouted the alarm. At first he thought that the danger was from outside the camp, until he lunged to cover the women's bodies and found nothing but cold, empty ground. Scrambling to his knees, he rubbed the dirt from his eyes and sprinted off towards a ghostly white specter darting through the woods.

Alestra shoved Celina towards the thicker cover of the forest while she stayed much more visible, hugging the tree line. As anticipated, the knights saw her first and came straight for her. She hoped that separating would give them a better chance. It had been difficult to get Celina to agree to splitting up. Finally she had reasoned with her daughter that even if one of them was captured again, the other would come to her rescue.

Alestra didn't have the heart to admit to Celina that if she were captured again, Alestra would not remain alive long enough to be rescued. She would not endanger her daughter's life any more by waiting for the child to break her free of the well trained knights.

The witch did not fear death. Death was just one aspect of life, and she would finally come full circle, returning to the bosom of the Goddess. No, Alestra's fears were far worse. She'd heard the whispers of the village as they'd passed, watched their captors carefully, and grown suspicious. The men did not wear the white tunics with red crosses, but their mannerisms were all too familiar. Alestra had nearly been burned at the stake once before when Knights Templar had assisted the church in a witch hunt. She'd watched one of her coven sisters as the flames consumed her flesh. She would not allow such a thing to happen to Celina. Nor would she stand to be burned alive herself.

Alestra lead the men deeper into the wood, evading them as best as she could, while leaving a clear trail. When she thought they were in far enough to give Celina a fair head start, she stopped leaving tracks and climbed the sturdiest tree she could. It was not the best tactic. Skilled hunters, used to tracking with dogs, as many of the townsfolk were, would have spotted her easily, even in the dark of night. They would have spotted her because they were looking.

The knights were far more used to human prey, which rarely climbed trees, in their experience. The group went right past her, and she held her breath while she counted their numbers. One, two, three, four, five... where was their leader? He was the one that worried her the most. There was something about him that spoke to her, that destiny had brought him to Celina. Why, she did not know, she only knew that if destiny meant for this man to kill her daughter, she would have to change their fates.

Pierre was closing I on the girl. After his last chase through the woods, he was taking better care to watch not just where, but how she fled, keeping step with her winding path. His longer, stronger legs were giving him the advantage, and it wasn't long before he was just within reach of her long, flowing hair.

Last time he'd tried to catch the whirling tresses. He'd taken his eyes from the path and fallen neatly into her trap. There was still peat caked to the bottom of his boots. This time he made certain he was close enough, and simply leapt, tackling her to the ground.

Celina shrieked, certain she was going to be flattened, squashed against the forest floor. Instead, she felt him roll slightly, absorbing the brunt of the fall on his shoulder, holding her tight to his chest. She wiggled, and squirmed, nearly slipping out of the too large tunic and free of his grasp. When his arms hooked under hers, one hand closing firmly over her throat, she stilled, knowing she was caught.

Celina was frantic. She knew her mother had agreed to rescue her should she be captured, but neither Alestra nor Celina had expected her to be captured. She'd taken the safer route. She was supposed to get away. Lying still, listening to the knight's labored breathing, she realized something else. They were completely alone.

Her mother's plan that the knights would all follow her seemed to have worked, with this singular exception. This man was beginning to become the bane of her existence, always turning up where he wasn't wanted. While she had been struggling to free herself from his hold, she'd also noticed something rather hard pressing into her bottom. It could have been a knife hilt, but Celina knew better.

The brutal assault of her childhood tormentors was still fresh in her memory. She had been able to block most of it out, focusing instead on her mother's assault, filling her mind with thoughts of revenge. But now, with the man holding her tightly against his body, the trauma snuck up on her. 

She went wild, kicking and scratching and biting any part of him that he was daft enough to put within her reach. When she realized his hold was too strong and she would not be able to break free, she began to scream hysterically.

"No! No! NO!!!! Let me go, please, no! I won't, I won't, don't make me, don't take me, please no, no, no, nooo...."

Her wailing plea ended with a burst of sobs. He could feel her body trembling violently in his arms. Pierre was at a complete loss. His experience with rape victims had usually been to punish their rapists, and hand them over to the clergy. This part, dealing with a young girl completely out of her mind with fear, fear of him, was something he'd never expected.

Pierre held her tightly, so she couldn't hurt him or herself. As he felt her body slowly begin to relax, he relaxed his grip as well, whispering soothing words and trying to reassure her.

"It's going to be alright, I won't harm you, calm yourself, everything is fine, you are safe, I promise."

Through the fog of her terror his words finally penetrated. They did not make her feel calm, nor safe, however. They made her livid. The knight was here to capture Celina and her mother and drag them off to be burned at the stake at the behest of some priest, she was sure. How dare he make such promises in light of his quest?

Celina struggled to relax herself, to not show her rage, and put the knight at ease. Righteous anger was once again replacing her fear, settling over her mind with calm, calculating commands. Escape. Find her mother. Kill the village men. Hide and live safe. And perhaps, before she left, she would teach this knight a thing or two. She didn't care if he thought he was doing God's work. Men who believed in a God who would create a creature like her only to give men like him a target to destroy needed some sense knocked into their heads. Violently. If she couldn't change his mind, she would have no qualms about killing him too. He was dangerous. This area of France still had many Pagans, and she would not see them suffer at his hands for their beliefs either.

When Pierre felt that she might be calm, he allowed his own body to relax somewhat. Feeling the soft, warm body pressed against his own, he had to forcibly remind himself that she had just thrown a fit in fear of being raped. It would do no good to let her know he was holding his passions in check at the moment.

Struggling to his feet, holding the demon's wrists tightly in one hand, Pierre reached for a leather thong tied to his scabbard and bound her wrists tightly. He was careful to make certain that these knots would need to be cut, and could not be picked apart. Neither of them spoke as he led her back to the camp. None of the men had returned. He assumed they were still in pursuit of the witch. 

Briefly he realized how lucky he had been to find the demon. If he hadn't woken, and gone to speak with the women, he might have followed the others after the witch. He could see their tracks as they led away in the opposite direction. It was obvious that the women had planned their escape carefully, with the witch drawing them away while the demon girl slipped quietly into the forest.

Thinking of his luck, he realized that he was not going to be riding back to the village to punish the attackers. He also hadn't told the girl of his decision. He struggled with it now. Some of his knights would be heading back to camp eventually, picking up the horses and resuming the trail. He knew that joining their search with the girl in tow would be a burden, so he would be leaving the group to wait at the old Roman fort, several miles outside of Toulouse.

If they found the witch quickly, they would all travel straight to the cathedral to deliver their charges. If not, he would wait at the fort. Pierre suddenly found himself loathe to disclose to his brother knights that he intended to avenge the witch and demon. If they other horses were not still at camp, he could take his own and ride back to the village. They would return after their own success and assume he was waiting for them at the rendezvous. Unless he was swift, and got there first.

Making up his mind, and not contemplating what would happen if he returned to camp to find the witch safely in custody, Pierre continued through the wood until the trees cleared and he could see the lone horse tethered to his saddlebag. Sighing in relief, he picked the demon up and put her on his horses back. After securing the heavy saddle bag to the saddle, he swung up behind her, turning in the direction of the village, making plans in his mind as they rode in stony silence.

Celina's confusion grew more and more by the hour. It was nearly sun up, and her captor had pushed his mount to a rapid pace, in the wrong direction. She wasn't positive, but it looked like they were heading back to the village. When they passed the mill, just as the sun was peeking above the horizon, she knew it was true. He was taking her home, it seemed.

She felt a brief moment of elation, that perhaps the nightmare was over, some mistake had been made, but knew it couldn't be. When he rode his horse into the barn that adjoined the town chapel, she was certain that rescue was the farthest thing on his mind. She didn't even fight him when he gagged her with a strip of cloth and bound her in a stall. She was just too shocked. Had he determined she was too dangerous to transport? Would they hang her in the village square, like some common criminal? Or burn her at the stake? She knew the townsfolk could start a bonfire quickly enough, and her body shuddered at the image of their twisted faces watching her as she writhed against a blazing post. Finally, the knight spoke, and his words were even more confusing than her fears.

"I am going to avenge your attack. I am sorry I allowed those men to go free. I believed that you and the witch bewitched them. However, I can see that they hurt you, and against your wishes. I do not care if you are devil's spawn, no one should be used in such a fashion."

Her eyes were wide in shock, staring into his stormy dark orbs. He was surprised to note that the red of the iris was slightly lighter than her pupil, more pink than red, giving her eyes less of a glowing, evil look, and more of a human character. They were beautiful eyes, if you could dismiss the strange coloring. Long, darker blond lashes ringed the lids. Her brows were the same, finely shaped and colored just lighter than the nearly white locks on her head. The sight of her rosy, pink lips wrapped around the linen cloth of the gag made his cock twitch. Speaking more sternly than he'd planned, he advised her not to move or make a sound, then strode from the barn and into the growing light of dawn.

Pierre knew where the men were to be found. No wives or mothers had come to pester them when they'd returned beaten and stabbed. They were bachelors, and after such a harrowing experience, he knew he'd find them passed out in the local pub.

Stepping inside the Fuzzy Boar, he noted that the bartender was nowhere to be seen. It was too early for most men to be drinking, and the ale was safely locked in the cellar. The five men were indeed sprawled out asleep on a table together. A few others, all of them very old men, were snoring softly at their own, individual tables.

Pierre had given a lot of thought on how he would punish the men. He did not wish to kill them. Death was far too kind. Besides, he didn't need the families looking for retribution. Instead, he decided to shame them.

Cutting off their offending members would have been too obvious, although he was tempted. Instead, he went to the pile of men on the table and prodded them to determine how far gone they were. Two snored louder, and the other three barely moved. Perfect.

When he'd finished, Pierre briefly admired his handiwork. He'd stripped the men and posed their drunken bodies in obvious sexual positions. Even if they woke before anyone else saw them, they would assume the worst, and their shame would haunt them for the rest of their lives. 

It bothered him that they would probably never feel shame for having raped two women, but a drunken orgy with friends who should have known better, that would ruin them entirely. The strong stigma against homosexuality, however, had been taught to him since the cradle, and he knew it would be no different with these men. If they were caught, they faced being stoned to death, or exiled. If they weren't caught, at least it would keep them apart, and probably ruin their sex lives, ladling guilt and doubt on top of every relationship from then on.

Pierre knew this, because he had a Templar brother who fought daily against his urges. Daniel had joined the Templar because he did not want to join the clergy, but couldn't stand the thought of marrying a woman. He had never given in to his desires, but they haunted him, leaving him with a melancholy sense of dissatisfaction the older he got. 

Sensing the strange moods of his friend, Pierre had finally convinced Daniel to confide in him, but once done, Pierre hadn't known how to help him. Eventually, Daniel took his life. Everyone else thought he died in battle, and sung his praises as a knight of God. Pierre saw it happen, though, and knew the truth.




Angel of Desire Ch. 03



Daniel had been fighting a brigand twice his size, but half his skill. He'd watched carefully for the right moment, and when it came, he simply dropped his sword and left himself wide open. The man had slit Daniel's throat, and in less than a minute, he was gone.

Daniel deserved better, Pierre thought. These men, though, did not. He almost wished he could stay, to see what became of them, but it was too risky. Silently, he slipped from the tavern and made his way back to the barn, still unnoticed in the early morning hour. The demon had fallen asleep, leaning against a hay bale. He wasn't surprised. It had been a harrowing night for everyone.

He lifted her gently, but there was no way to keep her from waking. She struggled out of her slumber like she was moving through a bog. He made sure she looked him in the eyes and realized where she was before removing the gag. It would not do if she had another panic attack and woke the entire village.

Holding her tightly to him, he rode back towards the camp, hoping to meet his fellow knights returning from their search. As they rode, she finally gained the courage to ask him about his punishment of the rapists.

"What did you do to them? Did you kill them?"

He noted the bloodthirsty hope in her voice, although he couldn't blame her. It was common enough for a family to demand death for such a crime.

"No."

"Did you castrate them?"

She almost sounded even more hopeful at that thought, and he had to repress a sadistic chuckle that welled up in his chest.

"No."

He wished he could see her face, but her back was to him as they rose. He imagined the scowl marring her perfect pink lips as she tried to imagine something more horrible, and failed. Disappointment and heavy sarcasm laced her words when she threw out the more common punishment for men who took unmarried ladies.

"Did you demand payment to compensate my dowry?"

He couldn't help himself. He laughed. Celina shivered as the large man behind her nearly bellowed in her ear, his chest rippling with his laughter, sending a low hum through her back where they touched. Finally he answered.

"No."

Celina wanted to scream. He made them ride all the way back to town, he promised her retribution, and yet he would not tell her how he had achieved said revenge. She began to doubt that he had done much of anything at all. That is, until he finally cleared his throat, and with a strangely detached voice, explained his truly righteous vengeance.

"I expected them to be drunk in the tavern, and was not wrong. They were completely unconscious, unable to wake, so I stripped them of their clothes and posed them in sinful positions with one another. If they are lucky, they will wake up before anyone discovers them, and never know what really happened between them all. If they are unlucky, they will be found and stoned to death for sodomy."

Celina wasn't sure what to say. It was, in a sense, the perfect revenge. They did not actually commit sodomy, but it would be assumed by themselves and everyone else that they had. The punishment for sexual deviance was one of the harshest in the land, particularly with the village friar. She highly suspected that the man's aversion to homosexuality was because he himself felt attracted to men. Or more specifically, young boys. She had seen him often staring at the boys as they played in the streets, his eyes just a little too keen.

Celina herself had never fully understood the issue with homosexual acts. She had read the passages in Leviticus and Deuteronomy that spoke of it, but there was little in the way of why it was forbidden. Her mother had explained that there were probably several factors, including the Egyptian and Roman practice of temple prostitution and the higher rate of disease among men and women who practiced sex with anyone besides a spouse, homosexual or not. If the Jewish people, and later the Christian people, were to thrive, they needed to keep their people as clean and pure as possible. Restricting sex was a quick and efficient way to accomplish this. It also set them apart from most Pagan religions, many of which used ritualized sex in ceremonies.

That being said, Celina knew the social shame associated with the act, and knew it was what the men should have felt after harming her and Alestra. The fact that they would likely be killed as well helped assuage her blood lust, and she nodded in approval. Pierre was pleased that she approved of his methods, strange as they were. He knew some people would have been horrified that he'd disrobed other men, and put the stigma on himself as well. Celina, however, knew why he had done it, and did not concern herself with anything beyond the results. Pierre found himself oddly relieved that the beautiful demon did not think that he was a sodomite. He wasn't sure why he should care, but he did.

They stopped to take a midday meal, continuing their morning fast and riding straight until noon. Celina ate ravenously, her eyes downcast, but stealthily scanning for any sign that her mother was following them. It was unlikely she would try, at least until the rest of the group gave up their pursuit. Celina hoped that the back tracking would allow Alestra to catch the knight by surprise, before the other men regrouped.

After several more hours of hard riding, however, she began to doubt that her mother would ever catch up to them. They even stopped in a town and he traded his horse for a fresh mount, pushing the other steed hard once they were on an established road, even into the first hours of night. Finally, instead of staying at an inn, he stopped at a nearby farm and offered the farmer several copper coins in exchange for use of the barn. 

Pierre took no chances with her this time, tying the demon tightly to a support beam while he and the horse rested comfortably in the hay. He did tie her in a reclining position, her hands over her head and her legs free to move, but it was not her preferred position in which to sleep, that was sure. Celina was tired, though, and it took little time before she drifted off to sleep.

Celina awoke sometime in the night to the sound of her own teeth chattering. It was the end of October, and it was mildly chilly during the day. During the night, the frost was slowly creeping in through the walls and the ground. The knight had supplied her with a dress from the farmer's wife, and a cloak had been laid over her body. It wasn't nearly enough, however. Her thin skin and little body fat were not able to keep her warm enough.

Turning her head, she saw her captor, snuggled up against his horse, both laying in a soft bed of hay. She briefly thought that freezing to death in the farmer's barn might be the better fate than what awaited her at the end of this journey, but she couldn't quite bring herself to admit defeat just yet. Celina was too full of life, and she wasn't ready to die.

Pierre heard the girl struggling to change her position, to dig deeper under the cloak. More so, however, he heard her chattering teeth. In fact, Pierre had heard her clacking jaws before she'd even awoke. He'd struggled with himself, hoping she would somehow become warmer on her own, but when he heard her trying vainly to coax more warmth out of her makeshift blanket, he knew he had to do something about it. 

Rising quickly he strode over to the beam and cut the leather thong. Hoisting her to her feet, he carried her to the warm pocket in the hay where his own body had been lying, and set her down, covering her back with his torso. Between the heat radiating from his horse's sturdy body and from his own previously warm body, she should have begun to warm. Instead, she continued to shiver, her eyes squeezed shut, jaw clamped down defiantly.

Celina refused to look at him. She was freezing, but lying nestled against his body was the last thing she wanted. She tried to lean into the horse, but all that did was force him to press himself more tightly to her. She felt the familiar trickle of fear gripping her and fought to keep herself calm. Aside from turning her in to the Inquisition, she knew she had nothing to fear from this man. Over and over he proved himself to be more than the average lust crazed man. She sucked her breath in, counting slowly as she let it out, repeating until she began to feel more composed. No amount of breathing exercises could have prepared her for what happened next.

Pierre knew that she was too cold. Her pale, luminous skin was like ice. The tips of her fingers were red and swollen because of the bindings, and he cursed himself for not realizing the effect this would have on her circulation. Quickly he cut her hands free and gently began to rub her hands and wrists, helping the blood return to her body and increase her ability to warm herself. He didn't stop at her wrists, though. He continued to rub her body down until the shivering began to subside. He was so focused on the task, he nearly missed her reaction. When she was no longer trembling from the cold, he noticed she was stiff as a board.

Celina felt his warm hands caressing her body. He was gentle, and there was nothing sexual about his massage. She knew, as she'd assisted her mother with many patients who had been out in the cold too long, that the massage was probably the best thing to help with her hypothermia. But her reaction to his touch was what frightened her the most.

Celina had never trusted anyone but her mother in her entire life. Never had another single person in her experience done anything for her that she could feel grateful for. It was a very lonely existence. She loved Alestra, and she had been a wonderful mother. But one person was not enough to fulfill the emotional needs of a growing girl. She had wanted friends, companions, and eventually, love. Her mother was a friend, sometimes, and often a companion. In spite of loving her a great deal, Celina was often frustrated that it didn't seem enough.

As the knight's hands rubbed her body back to life, ridding it of the cold, she began to feel the undeniable urge to lean into his touch. She was desperate for his comfort. It stopped mattering who he was, or why he was there, only that he was there, and he was being kind. She felt so abused, so hurt, and he had promised to keep her safe. She wanted to believe it, so badly, but her mind simply wouldn't accept what her heart was aching to trust.

Pierre was enjoying himself far too much. It had been years, over a decade, since he'd touched a woman so intimately. He reminded himself that this was being done for her health, that she needed to get warm. His brain understood that, but the rest of him, the part that was quickly growing hard in response to the soft sighs and moans that escaped her lips, seemingly against her will, wanted to believe it was something more. He wanted to believe that she was responding to him, as a man, and that he was free to enjoy it.

When starting out on this journey, Pierre expected to return to his duties as a holy knight. He could not do so in name, but he could do so in heart. He'd lived this way since he was eighteen and took his vows. It had been difficult to deny himself the love of a woman, but not as difficult as it was for other men. For Pierre, the rules of chivalry as well as the church demanded that he lie only with his one true love, or at least his wife. Since he'd long ago concluded he could not afford a wife, and since no woman since the lovely tavern wench, who was his first and only and had gently turned him down, had ever tempted his heart, he was content, in a way. Now, however, his body was clamoring for release, and his heart was tugging gently at his conscience.

It didn't matter if he meant to continue as a holy knight, he could never be one. If he took a woman to his bed, it would no longer be a disgrace to his vows. He was free. Free to enjoy all of life, and all of this beautiful angel before him. Laying his face in the mass of silken hair, breathing deeply of her soft, flowery scent, Pierre's resolve began to crumble.

When her captor's face buried in her neck, his hot breath brushing her skin, Celina thought she was going mad. She couldn't reconcile her fear and her growing passions. She wanted to feel loved. The men from the village had hurt her, and although she knew this experience would be just as shallow, she thought, just maybe, he would be gentle enough for her to pretend.

It didn't help that he was exactly like the fantasy she imagined when she touched herself. Tall, dark, handsome and a knight. In her fantasies, he would rescue her from an angry mob and bring her into the woods to make sweet love to her. She'd seen one of the barmaids with a man once, and although the whole thing looked terribly uncomfortable, the girl had seemed to enjoy herself immensely. After that one voyeuristic encounter, the only other sex act Celina had experienced was the rape of her mother and her own assault. The incident was so different from what he was doing now, however, that she was able to block the memories, just enough, to slip into the old fantasy.

Pierre felt her body finally relax, opening up to his touch. She kept her eyes firmly closed, refusing to look at him, but that simply meant that Pierre could forget about the strange red irises which branded her a demon, and pretend she was the angel he'd first seen in the lake.

When he kissed her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty skin, Celina's body bucked in surprise. His hands had been trailing across her collar bone, but the sharp movement changed his direction. All at once he was cupping one of her breasts, and she couldn't help but moan as she felt the tight bud harden in his palm. Even through the thin fabric of the borrowed dress, his hands felt like they were burning her skin.

Her moans encouraged him until he was trailing his lips down to meet his fingers, closing his mouth over her nipple, through the barrier of the shirt. Her fingers slipped into his hair, holding his head tenderly. He understood. The minute he felt her push him away, he would stop. Allowing her this small measure of control was the only way he knew to ease her fears.

Her gentle pressure eased his own worry, and emboldened him to push his limits. Pierre began to tug at the front of her dress, unlacing the ties until he was rewarded with one bare breast, then another. He could feel her fingers on his scalp, trembling, but not pushing him away. The nipples were hard, contracted from both the cold and her excitement. When he took one taut bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue to taste every inch, she arched again, holding his mouth tightly to her body.

Pierre licked and sucked with renewed vigor, bathing her nipple until the hard peak softened and began to swell like a luscious, puffy pastry. When her grip eased, he twisted his neck so that he could taste the other. She cried out in pleasure, and suddenly he felt one of her knees brushing against him.

He couldn't help it. He had to know. Sliding one hand down her stomach, slowly, he touched her center, discovering that his speculation was correct. His angel had opened her legs for him.

When Celina's legs fell open, she was still in the grips of her fantasy. She was imagining her dream lover to be doing the wonderful things the knight was with his mouth. She had never dreamed that it could feel like this. It was like when she touched herself, except ten times more intense, and she could feel herself growing hot and moist. When his hand cupped her mound through the dress, the fantasy faded, and she was drawn back into reality.

The feeling was just too intense. She'd never imagined such an powerful sensation, and her mind wasn't able to focus on anything but the burning ache his touch brought to her body. Vaguely she felt her skirt sliding up around her waist, but it didn't register until his hot fingers dipped in to touch her sensitive outer labia. She bucked again, his nimble fingers dancing over her flesh, sinking down into her folds, caressing her molten heat as he continued to lick and suck her nipples.

Celina was on fire. The cold of the night was a distant memory as she writhed beneath his touch. She was burning, aching for more, but terrified that he would give her exactly that. She could feel his erection, hot and hard against her hip. Occasionally he would grind against her, mimicking the dance she so desperately wanted, and feared. She tried to remember who he was, tried to remember why they were there, but the fog of pleasure was just enough that she didn't care. He hadn't hurt her yet. That was more than any other man she'd known.

Pierre was drowning in need. His cock was rock hard and demanding attention. He could do little more than grind against her, however, unless he changed his position. Her wild, uninhibited reaction to his touch was making it more and more difficult to control himself, however, and when her body finally began to break, shuddering into his hands and coating them with her slick juices he knew he was done for. He was going to die if he didn't taste her.

Letting go of her nipple, he spared a glance at her face, slack and beautiful, he lips parted as if in surprise. He wished he could see her expression in a few seconds. Dipping his head between her thighs, he let his tongue lick her damp skin, savoring her salty flavor. The fingers in his hair yanked his head violently, but the rise of her hips let him continue his tongue's eager exploration. Her fierce cries of pleasure rang through the barn. Pierre slipped on finger inside her silken sheath as he doubled his tongue's speed, flicking her pulsing clit while slowly pumping her tight walls with one finger. She was unbelievably tight. Even if he'd found no maiden head, he would have believed her claim to virginity. It was obvious, even to his inexperienced self that no man had been inside her, at least recently. With only a little more pressure, however, he found it, the thin wall of her maidenhood. 

He was surprised that the knowledge increased his protectiveness. He suddenly wished he had killed those men who had tried to deflower her in such a violent manner.

When her body began to grip his finger tightly and her mewls and cries were growing louder and more drawn out, he untied the draws of his trousers and let his cock slip into his hands. As she came hard onto his fingers, bathing his tongue in her juices again, he stroked himself once, twice, then a last time, his hot seed gushing onto her thigh. He lay his head on her stomach, breathing deeply, trying to relax his pounding heart. Even though he'd spilled himself, he felt oddly unsatisfied.

When she began to thread her fingers through his hair, stroking his brows, he felt a smile tugging at his lips. He twisted his head so that he could gaze up into her face, and fixed on her slightly bewildered and flushed expression. Then his gaze focused on her red eyes, and the feeling of pride in having brought his angel pleasure vanished. Reality returned.

Pierre realized he'd just been bewitched, seduced by the demon. She might be a virgin, but that didn't make her any less of a temptress.

Celina's smile turned upside down when she saw his face, briefly euphoric, turn hard and cold. She imagined it was the same look he'd given her when they were in the swamp when he feared she would kill him. It was angry, but resigned. He didn't desire her any more. He wasn't looking at a beautiful girl whom he'd promised to protect. He was looking at the demon he'd been sent to collect.

Roughly, he tied her hands above her head again and rolled her onto her side, facing the horse. She was warm, and eventually able to calm her racing emotions and sleep. Pierre was not so lucky. He spent most of the night in silent prayer, trying to decide whether he had defiled himself with the demon seductress, a willing victim to her charms. 



Angel of Desire



When she slid a second finger inside, Pierre had to restrain a deep growl as his cock strained against his own hand, desperate to slide into that molten tunnel. He felt drops of pre cum moisten his tip and he took the opportunity to slicken his shaft with the wetness. His nose was beginning to feel a little numb as the blood pooled in his groin. Her thumb was now rubbing her inflamed clit while her other fingers thrust in and out of her entrance. He could hear the wet slapping of flesh and a faint suck, and he realized she was dripping, not from the lake, but from passion. Pierre didn't think he could last much longer, but slowed his strokes anyhow, trying to prolong his pleasure as he watched the angel on the stone. Suddenly she lifted her hips from the rock and held herself there, quivering and shuddering, her gasps of breath ceasing in one long, tortured moan of ecstasy while her fingers continued to plow her flesh. When he saw that her silken pussy was gushing splashes of sweet nectar all over the rock, he lost his control and thrust violently into his hand, the other cupping his balls as they tightened, his seed rushing through his cock to shoot out onto the forest floor. The pleasure was intense, but he refused to close his eyes, waiting until the beautiful girl finally relaxed, lowering her body to the moss and panting with exhaustion.

Pierre's own body was also trembling, but he had enough sense to return his cock to his trousers while he composed himself. He felt ashamed for having spied on the girl, but couldn't bring himself to step forward and ask her forgiveness. Perhaps it would be better if she simply didn't know...

The angel's head snapped up and she looked right at him, bright red eyes boring into the depths of his soul. The blood that had been slowly returning to his face instantly drained away as he realized he had found the demon child.