Page 15 of Where Exorcists Cannot Lie

Our eyes met on occasion. A few times, we exchanged little smiles. I didn’t want to ponder how quickly I normalised having him in my vicinity again.

In the end, I got tired of sitting still and doing nothing like a turnip. My arse began to ache, besides. So I stood, stretched my bones and joined in.

We spent the rest of that afternoon in companionable silence, sprucing up the place and organising it for the days ahead.

4

Lies And Temptations

The next few days flew by.

We settled into an easy rhythm, not stepping on each other’s toes. Being familiar with each other’s habits probably helped, although, on the whole, sharing a house with Inuel resembled little of our life in the past.

First and foremost, we slept in separate bedrooms. The fact we didn’t spend the majority of our time pawing at each other like we used to afforded us the opportunity to discover other things. Like talking. And playing cards. Not that I didn’t have that dull ache settle in my sternum—and pretty soon my blue balls, too—every time Inuel bid me goodnight and shut the door of his room behind him.

At the start, we both napped and meditated a lot. Inuel’s dedication to the latter came as a surprise—he hadn’t done a whole lot of that before, as far as I’d known. But I didn’t think much about it, assuming we both had our own spiritual mending to do. After all, demonic energy worked in a way very similar to Magic and required similar daily cultivation.

Inuel made a good companion, the easy-going sort he could be. He seemed more attentive and agreeable than I’d remembered. Living with him became comfortable in a snap, and I grew fond of the routine we established. Granted, Inuel’s alpha streak shone through here and there. He insisted on doing all the heavy lifting-type tasks around the house on account of my ‘delicate bone structure’, as the arse once phrased it. Did I mind that? Hell no. His other good use extended to acting as my personal demonic ladder whenever I had trouble reaching things from the top shelves in the larder and kitchen. Therefore, often.

By choice, I did most of the cooking. Inuel prepared an odd evening meal on open flames outside—a delicious but somewhat dramatic affair he insisted on calling barrabeko—or fire-kissed food. It involved an array of spices and a marinade, which he applied using a little brush while sporting a look of intense concentration, complete with a furrowed brow and a stuck-out tongue.

We each claimed a settee in the sitting room by the fire and often read our respective scrolls there in the evening. Yet again, something I hadn’t realised Inuel had been into. Thank the gods he proved not to be one of those annoying morons who would ask, “What’s so funny?” about every passage that had me cracking up. Discussing our readings at the end of our day turned into a habit, though. Inuel’s sarcastic and to-the-point comments demonstrated he wasn’t just a pretty face. By complimenting him in this fashion once, however, I found myself under a vicious pillow attack.

Towards the end of the first week, the curative benefits of the retreat finally materialised. The therapeutic aura of the place did away with the last remnants of Inuel’s grudge curse. As for myself, I went back to feeling more balanced. My mood had lightened, and the fatigue and headaches had ebbed away—a welcome sign of the blackening beginning to recede.

We began spending more time outdoors. In my case, that meant gardening and riding the horses around the perimeter. Inuel took up exercise. He tried to convince me to join him, but I turned him down flat. The only sweat-inducing physical activities I tolerated were those of the bedroom persuasion and my rigorous hand-waving during incantations. Watching Inuel work out, however, soon turned into my favourite pastime.

The forms he practised consisted of slow, fluid movements and resembled a combination of an acrobatic martial art with elements of dancing and stretching. It made for a fascinating spectacle, especially since his training became yet another activity Inuel chose to do bare-chested.

Wood-chopping? Shirtless. Carrying water while balancing two buckets on a shoulder pole? Shirtless. Doing dishes, his arms elbow-deep in soapy foam? Yup, shirtless again. And that despite the duck-embroidered apron I’d uncovered in one of the kitchen’s drawers. Would it kill his alpha-arse to wear it? By then, I’d grown doubtful whether Inuel owned any clothes that fitted his upper body in a comfortable manner. But I refrained from volunteering remarks, not wanting to draw his attention to the fact I’d noticed the wares he’d been displaying or that the show had bothered me any.

Had I noticed? Had it bothered me? Fuck yes. Inside, I died a little every time I caught sight of those cut muscles vibrating with movement, their ridges glistening in the sun or candlelight. The man looked ravishing. Gorgeous. An alpha in every aspect. Without saying anything–gah, even when washing up, he commanded the room. It would be shameful to acknowledge how much I’d enjoyed it when he’d commanded me in the past.

I had this thing about our size difference. I’d struggle to explain why it made me feel a combination of horny, cherished and safe. The last notion made even less sense, considering that as a feared Exorcist Mage, I didn’t lack the skills to ensure my own safety, thank you very much. Logic aside, I liked my men bigger. Physically stronger and taller than me. Looking as if they were able to snap me like a twig. Locked in the embrace of robust arms, I melted like butter on hotcakes.

And Inuel’s arms were perfection—the best pair I’d encountered by far.

I loved the way he towered over me by some good three thumbs, broad enough to block my line of vision and make me forget anything else that wasn’t him. During our separation, he’d acquired two tattoos: one on the lower side of his ribcage and the other curled around his hip bone. The realisation I’d never had a chance to trace them with my fingers, or better yet, my tongue, frustrated the shit out of me. And gods above, did he smell delicious. That had always been the case, but of late, I’d become aware of Inuel’s scent to the acutest degree. It hung in the air, filling every nook of the place, driving me insane with want. Because yes—I wanted him still, just like I’d wanted him back then. That hadn’t changed one bit. It never would.

I longed for Inuel to touch me. To kiss me. It felt absurd and unfair, being so close to him yet unable to indulge in the taste of his lips.

Of course, I kept those inclinations to myself. We were housemates, two people with a history, trying to be civil and spend an enjoyable time in each other’s company before pursuing our separate paths. Nothing suggested he harboured similar desires—well, nothing apart from the few odd glances I caught him throwing my way. But that could have been because the sexual frustration got to him, too. Alphas didn’t do well with prolonged celibacy.

All in all, with the tension weighing on me, day after day, I became a bundle of nerves and poorly contained urges. Yet contain them, I did. Until that afternoon.

After an intense practice session, which Inuel decided to hold in close proximity to the vegetable patch where I weeded, he followed me into the kitchen.

While I sat at the table sorting through my yellow beetroot harvest, Inuel set up a basin on the stool opposite and proceeded to wash his torso using a cloth.

I took off my gardening gloves, frowning. The man seemed hell-bent on torturing me all day. No amount of teeth-clenching distracted me from the view, though.

Unaware of my impending meltdown, Inuel finished his ablutions, towelled himself off and undid the leather tie that held his topknot in place between his adorable little horns. His freed tresses cascaded down his back and sides like an obsidian waterfall.

The gasp I didn’t quite manage to strangle caused Inuel to pivot and face my way.

“Taz,” he tilted his head, a concerned look crossing his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I gritted, only to wince in pain the next moment when the punishment for my lie whacked me straight in the chest.

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