Corruption Ch. 03

He grunted in satisfaction and pushed his face against her flowing cunt, his thumb resuming its manipulation of her clit as he stroked his tongue down, and pushed it inside her, letting it grow and swell, twisting and uncoiling, deeper and deeper.

She was shaking, hips bucking helplessly between his hand and mouth, mewling cries gasped out with every breath. He felt the beginnings of her climax, and thrust his tongue in further, curling the forked tip along the superheated canal, allowing it swell larger. He thrust and withdrew, swirling it around, his fingers clamping around the too-sensitive erectile tissue, squeezing and stroking faster and faster.

As she cried out, muscles contracting to steel rigidity, clenching his head between her thighs, he smiled inwardly. Once tasted, this knowledge could never be unknown, the reactions along the pathways of her nervous system seared into her brain, never to be forgotten.

Within the crystal lattices of the priest's mind, his soul shuddered too. The demon thought it highly amusing to allow Martin to feel it all with him, helpless passenger on this road to depravity. He made sure the soul could savour the taste of her, enjoy the silken softness of her skin and the moisture of her sex, breath deeply of her smell, the scents of innocence and wanton arousal inextricably entwined ... and the iron-hard erection he was sporting was as much a result of the priest's helpless lust as his own.

What say you, Martin?

It whispered to the soul trapped in its own mind, tortured by its own body.

Should we penetrate her fully? Fuck her till she's screaming with ravenous need? Or is this enough for one day's lessons?

Shamed silence was his only answer and he laughed at the loss of hope in the priest's soul.

Your God cannot protect you from your own base desires, can he, my love? He is not so all-powerful. He has tested you and found you wanting, Martin. You may as well enjoy it now.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Patience cried out, fingers digging into her knees as scorching pleasure filled her and overflowed, breaking waves rolling over her and drowning her in its intensity, spreading outward and upward and down the length of her body to her extremities, her blood boiling, her nerves charged and sparking, not a single cell unchanged.

The tongue inside of her had grown and lengthened, whipping at the clusters of nerves, throbbing against the spasming of her muscles, pushing further and more intimately as Father Martin's fingers tugged and ground at her. Together, the pulsing reactions blended and exploded, and she bucked and writhed, mindlessly lost, burning up in ecstatic sensation.

She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, darkness filled with lightning filling her vision, her throat dry and parched, her body overloading under the continuous stimulation.

"Father," she moaned. "Am I dying?"

Father Martin pinched her clitoris, the pain stabbing through the pleasure, heightening her senses further, closer to shut-down, and lifted his head. Through slitted eyes, she saw - she thought she saw - his tongue as he pulled it from her, impossibly long and thick, forked at the end and coated the fluids that spurted and filled her.

Jerking at the cessation of its probing, she tried to open her eyes wider, seeing the priest licking his lips, his tongue a man's again, thick and short and red. The slowly diminishing aftershocks rippled through her, and she felt an immeasurable weight in her body, every muscle and tendon stretched and limp, heavy with an apathetic lassitude.

"No, my child, you are not dying," Father Martin said, straightening and leaning over her. "You have tasted our Lord's pleasure, for the first time and it sometimes feels like dying, but it is life you feel."

Looking up at him, she allowed her legs to lower, feeling them tremble.

"Patience," Father Martin said. "Put your arms around me and kiss me, child. Let me see your love for our Lord. Let me feel it."

Lifting her arms with difficulty, she slid them around the priest's neck, curling them tighter as he lowered himself over her. She pressed her lips to his, the contact reigniting threads of the unbearable arousal she'd felt at his touch, her lips moving of their volution, it seemed, against his.

The tip of his tongue slipped in between them, and she shuddered at that soft invasion, a tingle trilling along her exhausted nerves. She opened her mouth and felt his tongue slide along the side of hers, her nipples hardening and aching.

"Very good, Patience," Father Martin said, pulling away. "You are progressing very well."

"Yes, Father. Thank - you, Father," she said, uncertain of what she was thanking him for. She could hardly think.

"I will see you again, tonight," he said, turning away from her and going to the desk. "Come here after Compline. I believe you are able to learn more quickly than the others."

"Yes, Father." She walked to the chair, reaching for her garments.

"I do not need to remind you of the rules, do I, Patience?" he asked, watching her dress.

"No, Father," Patience replied.

"Good. You are released."

Slipping the habit over her head and fastening her belt, she left the room, every step an effort, but her loins still tingling with the memories that bombarded her now that she was out of the priest's presence.

Was she in training as a bride of the Lord, she wondered helplessly, feeling moisture slip down the insides of her thighs with each step, its pungent aroma surrounding her. Mother Superior had not mentioned such things to her, in her interview here.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Following the high perimeter wall of the convent, Gage slowed as he entered the forest that encroached right up to the laid stone. The forest was silent and for the mid-morning in such a densely wooded area, the lack of noise was as blaring an alarm as a riot would've been, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and turning his normal, ranging stride into a stealthy prowl.

The smell hit him before he sighted the creature; a vole, swollen to twice its normal size, gassy and greenish looking where the fur had sloughed away as decomposition accelerated. The vole hadn't been the only victim, he thought, seeing a rabbit a couple of days less putrid a few feet away and a crow, lying on its back, clawed feet in the air, on the other side of the vole.

Something had moved in here, something bad enough to have created a field of influence that was covering the forest and inching its way down to the village in the valley below. Skirting around the dead animals, he walked silently along the convent's wall, his senses on high alert, the instincts that had served him so well for so long as a hunter for Rome, tweaking his route this way and that.

He reached the gates of the convent again in an hour, seeing the bottle-green coat of his partner against the darker forest and speeding up.

"What'd you find?" he called out to Webster, his feet kicking up the dirt of the road in dry puffs.

"I can't locate a field here," Web replied, chewing on the side of his cheek as he studied the forest to the south and the fields west of them. "There has to be one - the salt has risen in the soil in those gardens, and there're sulphur streams in it as well."

"Maybe the foci are further out?"

"Or maybe it's in there," the tall hunter said, nodding at the grey buildings. "No one is answering the door - which is locked," he added.

Gage's brow rose. "Locked?"

"Not just unusual," Web agreed. "Unheard of."

"Keeping something out ... or something in?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Webster shrugged. "What did you find in the forest?"

"A lot of dead animals and birds," Gage told him. "Some energy hums, but they faded out when I moved toward them."

"You think the gate's in the forest or the marsh?"

"The marsh. At least there're cracks there, or the demons wouldn't be able to use the mist as cover when they're moving," he said. "Donato thought the coven's temple was somewhere in there, didn't he?"

"That's what he said," Webster confirmed. "He won't be able to lead us to it. He's gone, left this morning to get word to the Prefect in Kendal."

"Well, we can work that out when we get back," Gage said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "The coven members are still missing, although I doubt we'll find them alive now."

He turned and looked at the convent. "What'd you get out of the girl?"

Webster's gaze cut away. "Not much. She said she hadn't seen any changes in the people here, but she's only been here six months, she might not have known them that well."

"You think you can convince her to pick another life?" Gage asked, mouth curving up to one side.

"I never considered it," Webster said stiffly.

"I'm sure you didn't."

"I didn't."

"That's what I said," Gage pointed out, ducking his head to let out a low chuckle.

"When do you want to go into the marsh?" his partner asked, changing the topic.

"Tonight, a couple of hours after sundown." Gage turned for the road, and started walking. "We need to find some yarrow and rowan."

The taller man nodded. "Rose said she could supply us with anything we might need."

"Oh, Rose did, did she?" Gage turned to look at Webster. "When did you get a chance to talk to her, without her father breathing down your neck?"

"This morning," Webster said loftily. "While you were sleeping off whatever excesses you indulged in last night."

"I didn't indulge in anything but sleep last night," Gage told him. "Is that why your bed was unslept in? You were worried about making more noise than me again?"

"I - that - I - you are impossible!" Webster said, his face screwing up into a scowl.

"I don't think it's all that healthy for you to be carrying that load of tension, Web," Gage said, grinning widely at his friend. "A little night exercise would clear that right up."

"Thank you for your advice," the younger man gritted. "And please, keep anything you might feel the need to declare to yourself!"

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The moon had barely risen above the horizon when Rose came into the inn, closing and locking the door behind her.

"The mist is rising," she said, turning to the two men standing over a long table by the hearth, a bowl of beaten copper between them. "It will reach the village in less than an hour."

Gage nodded, tossing a handful of small bones into the bowl and glancing at his partner. Webster stared down at the mortar in his hand, grinding the pestle more strongly against the crumbling black stone that half-filled the stone dish.

"Every ward is in place?" Gage asked the woman.

"Yes. Everyone has been warned to stay indoors from moonrise," she told him, taking off her dark cloak and throwing over a chair. In men's trews and loose, linen shirt, a close-fitting boiled leather vest over her chest and her fiery hair plaited and wound in a tight coronet around her head, she could've passed for a lad, Gage thought, his gaze flicking over her. If you didn't see her face, he amended a second later as she turned back to them.

"Rafe and Niall are waiting at the market gates," she added, walking to the table and looking at the bowl in the centre. "They have the iron arrows."

Neither man would probably even see the demons, cloaked and formless within the fog, the hunter thought. It didn't matter. This would be their hunt tonight. He looked down the table at the stone and crystal flasks of holy water, the leather and silk pouches of rock salt and iron filings. Simple, pure elements that the hellspawn could not tolerate, could not cross, that would burn if it came into contact with them.

"Where do we start?" Rose asked.

"We?" Gage cocked a sceptical brow at her. "'We' will start in the coven's temple," he said, his tone firm. "You will stay here and make sure that if anyone requires assistance, they have somewhere to go."

He felt his partner's surprised look and shrugged as he caught Web's eye. "I value my manhood too highly to risk it going against Donato's direct wishes."

"And here I thought you were incapable of reason," Webster muttered, grinding the stone into powder with a powerful twist of his wrist.

Gage grinned. "You underestimate me, my friend."

"My father is not here," Rose interrupted, a little frostily. "And will you find the ruins by yourselves? At night? With the hell mist filling the river valleys?"

"I'm confident we'll manage to find it without the need to put your delectable person into the sort of danger your father would geld me for," Gage told her, his smile widening.

"Have you never encountered a woman who is competent with a sword and spell book, sir? Or are all the women you know only interested in what you have between your legs?" Rose bristled at him.

"On the contrary, madam," Gage said. "I've stalked my prey with many a very fine female huntress, women who know what they're doing, trained from childhood." He leaned against the table, green eyes darkening as they stared into hers. "And if you're curious about what's between my legs, you've only to ask. I'd be glad to show you."

She turned away and walked out of the room, anger visible in every rigidly held line of her body.

"You really do have a way with people, Gage," Webster said, looking up from the mortar to watch Rose leave.

"It's a gift," Gage agreed modestly.

Webster snorted. "This is ready. What else do we need?"

"Nine drops of holy water. That goes in last," Gage said, looking down at the spell, and waving a hand at the flasks at the end of the table.

"And this will make us invisible to demonkind?" Webster asked, tipping the black powder into the bowl. "For how long?"

"The length of a night," Gage answered, picking up a flask of holy water. "No longer than that."

"Should be long enough."

"That's what I thought," he said, dripping the holy water into the bowl.

The ingredients began to bubble, steam rising from the bowl in tantalisingly fragrant curls. Both men turned away, arms shielding their eyes as the contents burst into flame, the fire argentine, lighting the room in merciless detail for a eyeblink then fading away to nothing as the bowl's contents cooled and dried.

"What was that?!" Webster lowered his arm slowly.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Gage grinned, reaching out to test the heat tentatively. "One from the vaults, Michael showed me the last time we were home."

The bones and crushed stone, herbs and crystals had been immolated. The remains were a fine, slightly greasy, powder. Gage looked across the table and nodded, reaching for his belt.

"This needs to go over the life points, my friend," he said, unbuckling his belt and unlacing his pants, then dragging them down. He reached for the back of his shirt, drawing it over his head. "Stings a bit at first, but it's worth it."

Webster nodded doubtfully, pulling his coat off. "I thought you didn't believe in the chakras, Gage."

The hunter scooped the powder onto his fingers and smeared the paste over his brow. "Doesn't matter if I believe, so long as it works," he said, rubbing a second dollop at the base of his throat. "Faith isn't a prerequisite for everything, you know."

"Yes, I do realise that - ow!"

Glancing at him, Gage shook his head. "Not handfuls, I told you it stings."

The taller man scraped the excess powder gingerly from just above his pubic bone.

"You're thinking that the coven opened the way for a demon they couldn't control?" he asked, wincing as he dabbed a smear on his perineum.

"Donato said the bodies of the witch and five of her followers were found, scattered around the perimeter of the village," Gage answered, wiping another smear under his ribcage. "There should have been another seven bodies. There were five men possessed in the village. Not one of which was one of the seven missing and believed to be a part of the coven."

"Why would a coven attempt to bring through a demon of high rank?"

The hunter shrugged. "Why do people do any of the unaccountably foolish things they do?" he asked disinterestedly. "Money. Power. Attention. It doesn't make a difference. If they let in a demon of sufficient power, it will have only one agenda."

"To bring more through," Webster agreed, patting more of the sticky powder onto his chest. "Yet we are not overrun by hellspawn."

"No," Gage said thoughtfully. "What we've seen have been minor, even the succubi are little more than irritants."

His face tightened as he stroked the final dab of powder on himself, and reached down to pull up the close-fitting leather trousers.

"How are we going to find this temple?" Webster asked, rubbing the powder onto his brow. "Both Donato and Rafael said the marsh was a trackless wilderness, more than twenty square miles of bog, and there will be more things than just demons living in it."

Gage buckled his belt, saying, "When I suggested you didn't need faith in all things, Web, I wasn't referring to me. Donato's record-keeping is as good as the local inn-keeper as it was when he was running the Blood Corps, he's got a number of maps in his office. He said they were probably using the ruins of an older church. We'll find it."

Waiting for his partner to get dressed, he tipped the remains of the bowl's contents into a small leather bag, pulling the drawstring tight and tucking it into the pocket of his coat. Webster was wriggling uncomfortably into his trews and Gage ducked his head to hide a grin, turning to walk out of the room and down the narrow and low-ceilinged hall to the ex-hunter's office. He went straight to the tall chest of shallow, wide drawers he'd seen there earlier.

Donato had left the Corp fifteen years before, after forty years in the service of the Church's unacknowledged and secretive militant arm. He'd been worried for his family and had been discharged with honour and a full pension, leaving the country and with no remaining connections to what he'd once been.

But, Gage thought, sorting through the neatly ordered maps that filled the drawers, you could take a commander out of the battle, but not the battle out of the commander. The training and instincts had remained and would remain for the rest of his life, as embedded in his character as the faith that sustained him.

Pulling out a map of the area, he set it on the table and moved the candle closer, leaning over and peering at the careful cartography of the village and its surrounds. The marsh was indicated, showing several tracks through. Four ruins stood within it, but each were clearly labelled. The old church, designated with a Coptic cross, was marked with three such notations. It had been built on a node in the energy lines. It had also been the site of Druidic practice, long before Rome had set her footprint on this land. And following the banishment of that ancient religion, the Coptic church had been built over the site, falling into ruins only a century ago. It was, he thought, where an arrogant and wealthy dabbler of the black arts might choose to summon powers of which she'd had no earthly idea.

A soft noise drew his attention from the map and he looked around. A moment later, Webster walked into the room.

"That's it?"

He nodded, tracing quickly with one fingertip the route from the village wall through the marshes to the ruins.

"Given the terrain, it will take us about an hour to walk there," he said, rolling the map up and slipping it into the inside pocket of his coat. "Let's go."

They walked back down the hall to the public room, Webster hesitating as Gage opened the front door. "Should we let Rose know?"

"She'll know when she finds the place empty," Gage said impatiently. "Come on."

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

From the servery's small, thick window, Rose watched them walk down the street, hearing the clocking of their boot leather fade away as they turned at the end of the square and disappeared into the slowly thickening mists. She came out of the shadows, snatching up her cloak and checking the long knife sheathed on one hip.