Chapter 3:

Later, as I was on my way back to my room, he found me in the hallway.

"Lillith," came a whisper beside my ear, and I felt the touch of cool fingers against my neck, sliding down to my shoulder, leaving a trail of white-hot fire in their wake. "Why are you running from me, beautiful?"

I knew immediately who it was. How could I not? Even though we had never spoken, I had only heard his voice a handful of times, I would know it if I were asleep, or perhaps even if I were dead. I felt that voice in the marrow of my bones, vibrating a rhythm that coincided with every beat of my heart, every pulse of blood in my veins. It set me trembling, my knees were suddenly weak, and I had to put my hand out to catch myself.

He stepped closer, and I felt him pressed against me, every line of him hard. I felt him breathe in and out, the breath in my ear.

"Shhh," he whispered, and I felt his lips touch my ear. Not the air of his breath, this time it was the feel of skin against skin, his impossibly cool, mine impossibly hot. Those lips slid down, following that burning path his fingers had made before, ever downward, following the line of my back, to the curve of my bottom. My blood roared in my ears, my heart sputtered and galloped like a winded racehorse. "Shhh."

His fingers paused at the edge of my skirt, then slipped inside, his palm curving to cup my bottom. "Shhh…"

I stood there for an eternity, it seemed, but I know that it was only a few seconds. Indecision raged through me: what should I do?

But oh, please, let him move his hand, let him move it around to my front, let those fingers go further…

The High Priestess knew about this. Or, at least she would, the next time I came into her presence. She would know, and she would hate me even more, and she would punish me. I shuddered with dread, thinking about what punishments she could visit upon me for simply allowing him to touch me like this, for even entertaining these kinds of thoughts.

But why was he doing this? He had her. He had the most dazzlingly gorgeous woman I had ever seen. Why waste time on me? Was he simply torturing me? Playing with me?

Testing me?

I stepped away from him, although it felt like my whole body might shatter into a million pieces, being separated from his touch.

"My lord, this is not proper. If the High Priestess found out…" I couldn't bring myself to face him, to see that impossibly perfect face, those mocking eyes, those sensuous lips, which I had just felt on me… "I cannot allow this. Please, I beg you, lord, leave me be!"

His hands were on me again, cupping my upper arms, turning me around to face him, even though I didn't want to, I looked away, trying to avoid his eyes, until he took my chin firmly in his hand and made me look up at him.

"Lillith, this is no test of your chastity or piety." He stepped closer, and a wave of dizziness washed over me as I felt his breath on my face. "I want you. You want me. That is enough."

I shook my head, my eyes closing drunkenly. "No. It isn't. She…she'll kill me!"

He chuckled, the other hand holding my arm loosening, then suddenly his arm was around my waist and he was pulling me against him. "No. I'd never let her." Then his mouth was dangerously close to mine, descending to try to cover my own, to stifle my protests.

"No! She'll know! She—she can hear my thoughts!" I dodged, I cast about desperately for something, anything to say, to stop this…but I wanted it to continue. My hands fluttered helplessly against his chest, not knowing whether to push him away or grasp him and pull him to me.

I wanted him to press me up against the wall and take me, take me roughly, savagely. Make me his.

I had no idea what I was thinking. I had no idea what should pass between a man and a woman, except for the rudiments, the basics…Those had been explained during the lessons regarding the union of god and goddess, the Sacred Marriage.

But I knew I wanted him right then, right there. I wanted every inch of him, on me, over me, in me.

Oh Goddess! What am I doing!

I broke away from him with a desperate gasp, almost falling, staggering back a few steps, away from him.

"No!" I turned away from his burning eyes, his hungry stare. "No, I cannot do this. I gave my vow. It is worth more…worth more than this."

His voice was terrible, low, and it shattered me. "You refuse me?"

Suddenly, it was as if there was something else there in the hallway with me. It wasn't a man I saw illuminated by the flickering oil lamps: it was a god.

He loomed so tall above me, his eyes glowing, and it seemed like lightning played in his hair. I felt every hair on my body rise in response to the charge in the air, like static, like the feeling before lightning strikes.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was over, and the man, the impossibly beautiful man, was standing before me, his arms outstretched pleadingly. "Please, forgive me, Lillith, for my impertinence."

I nodded wordlessly, afraid to try to speak, not knowing if my voice would work.

He stepped close again, but did not try to touch me like he had: he took my face tenderly between his cool palms and stared into my eyes.

"She will not see this in your mind when you are in her presence again. Sleep well, my lovely Lillith, and know that you are beloved of the god. He shall protect you. I swear it."

And it was if a door closed somewhere, the sound of finality, a deal done. I felt instant relief flooding me, charging me. She wouldn't know. I was protected.

I was beloved.

Then he was smiling down at me and I felt that exquisite pain as my bones melted with desire. "Sleep well, lovely." And he kissed me.

Never having been kissed before in my entire life, I did not know what to think. I stood perfectly still, rigidly holding myself in place: if I didn't, I would have thrown myself into that man's arms and wrapped myself around him like a child, like a clinging vine, and borne him to the floor, where perhaps it would have been me as the aggressor, taking him as my own.

His lips were unbelievably soft against mine, his hands holding my face between them ever so tenderly. Yet the electric charge was there again, building within me, burning me up, concentrating in the tender parts of my body, breasts and belly and between my thighs, until I thought I might melt with need.

Then he was gone, and I was alone, left gasping and weak, leaning against the wall so as not to fall.

I hardly slept that night, tossing and turning as if fevered. My whole body was afire with the memory of his touch, with the desire for more. When I did slip into sleep it was a dizzying collage of images and sensations: our bodies, touching, the sweet tang of his sweat on my tongue, the feel of skin sliding effortlessly against skin, and a deep, impossibly profound hunger to be filled.

I awoke in the morning feeling as if I hadn't slept; Palia gave me the evil eye and left without a word. I rose and bathed and dressed myself hurriedly, filled with dread, despite his assurances that everything would be fine. How could I trust him?

I stared at myself in the polished bronze mirror. Tried to see whatever it was he was so intent upon having. I hadn't really looked at myself in years, not looked at my face. Of course, I used the mirror to check my hair and the state of the kohl around my eyes, but I didn't look at my face.

Yes, I was beautiful. It wasn't vanity to say. I was. I even, surprisingly, very similar to her. But there was something different about me from her: where she looked like a living statue, so completely perfect, I was full of life. I was vibrant, I shone. Desire had brought a bloom to my cheeks, a sparkle to my eyes. I was so very alive.

I put the mirror down and hurried away; I couldn't afford to be caught up in such thoughts. Should she hear them from me…Oh, I knew I would be in for a beating.

Finally I stood before her chamber door, and the priestesses let me in as usual.

My nerves were twanging with nervousness: I felt like everyone could see it on me, especially her. She would see the marks of his kiss, his hands, upon me. She would hear my thoughts. But when she turned to face me and she smiled, and I knew she didn't know, she couldn't see.

His kiss burned on my lips. His touch throbbed on my skin, every place he had put those hands was awake in a way the rest of my body was not…The smell, the taste, the feel of him, was screaming from every thought, every nerve, every movement of my being…but she didn't see it.

And for the second time, since the High Priestess had read my mind that first day, I began to realize that I was meddling with the unknown. The supernatural had come to dwell in my life, and had made me part of it.

Somehow he had changed me, had marked me as his, had removed her hold on me, at least as far as he was concerned: she saw none of it. Thank the gods.

"Good morning, sweetest. I think I'll have a bath, and then you can go. I have breakfast planned with my lord this morning."

I gritted my teeth and smiled. I helped her bathe and dress and perfume herself, and when she was ready I turned, and there he was.

Oh, Goddess. What am I doing?

He smiled down at me, but it wasn't like the night before. There was no overt heat or desire. He was hiding it from her.

Then I clearly heard his voice in my mind: Wait for me, my lovely. Wait for me.

Again, the sensation of his lips burned on mine, as if my lips were remembering, as if they had a life of their own. And then I understood that he had placed some kind of ward, or charm, on me with that kiss. It made me his. It marked me.

"That will be all, Lillith. You may go. I shan't want to be disturbed the rest of the day," she said from behind me, breathlessly, sounding like a little girl. I stepped aside, my head bowed, and she went to him.

I watched as she reached up and wound her arms around his neck, standing up on tiptoe to kiss him. I watched as his arms came up and held her, those large hands with their long fingers seeking out the soft, sensitive parts of her beautiful body, his eyes closed with passion as he kissed her. She made a low sound in her throat as she pressed against him, and he lifted her bodily, holding her up, as she wrapped her long, perfect legs around him.

Jealousy.

Like acid. Like fiery, bitter, green bile, it set me afire. It consumed me like the desire had consumed me, but not nearly so sweetly. It hurt. It burned in a way that made me want to weep, to scream, to thrash and break things.

He is mine! My mind screamed, as I forced myself to look away and back out of the room.

The doors closed behind me with a terrible finality; I knew what was going on behind them. I could almost see it in my mind, the images of him bearing her to the bed, lifting her skirts and thrusting into her, her cries of passion mingling with his…

No, he isn't. The dry, pragmatic part of me awakened, shouting at me. Not in the slightest. You are his. He isn't yours. There is a difference.

Yes, of course. I had no claim on him. But he did have a claim on me.

I ran away then, like a hurt child. Like a fool. Like a spurned and silly woman. I ran and ran, until I was in the courtyard, kneeling before the fountain, splashing the cool water on my face, which stung with humiliation.

You are nothing to him but a whore, Lillith. He wants you, yes, but you are nothing special. Nothing more than an itch he wants to scratch.

You are pure. You are dedicated to the Goddess. He only wants what he cannot have, he delights in sullying the sanctified. He is a man who enjoys the conquest. If you give yourself to him, he will do nothing but hurt you and destroy you in the end.

I knew it was true. I knew it was right. My well-trained mind spoke the truth.

But oh, how I wanted him anyway. What a traitor is the body, is the part of you that loves, that hungers. No matter how right and logical things might seem, if the body wants something, it fights for it, tooth and nail, until it has it, usually to the soul's detriment.

I didn't know what else to do, but I knew this: I had to get away from him. I had to keep away from her. I couldn't put myself into temptation's way again, and ruin everything. I had given up so much to be what I was: a priestess, a learned woman, a person dedicated and sanctified to something special, something wonderful.

I went to the priestess above me and I pleaded illness. She felt my forehead, her brow worried in concern, and told me that yes, I did indeed feel feverish. I laughed like a maniac inside and didn't bother to tell her I was not sick in body, only in mind, and consumed by lust. She sent me to my bed, and told me that she would send word to the High Priestess's chamber that I was ill.

I passed the next several days in my bed, until I could hide no longer. The festival was at hand. I had to do my part.

And so it began. The beginning and the end of my life.