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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hours ago, H?ra’s left wrist had not seemed significant.

Tonight, long after Madeleine had departed for her “mass,” H?ra looked at it while sitting on the edge of her bed.

It had always looked ordinary, as human wrists went.

Slenderer than a man’s, but not as delicate as Madeleine’s.

This could be no ordinary wrist, however.

Not after Madeleine had touched it.

Touched it of her own free will, no less.

H?ra hadn’t reached for her first. This time, Madeleine had touched H?ra unprompted, and she hadn’t needed to.

She’d just asked H?ra what time it was.

H?ra had been about to tell her.

There had been no reason for them to touch.

How wonderful, then, that they had.

H?ra stroked her fingers over where Madeleine’s own fingertips had circled her so briefly.

She couldn’t have guessed how it would feel.

Was this how Madeleine had felt every time H?ra had touched her, “grabbing” her?

Now I’m the rude one, she’d said, clearly meaning it was the same thing.

So she must have felt the same.

Every follicle of hair on her body must have stood to attention.

Madeleine must…want her.

H?ra set her jaw. Her human teeth ground together, their blunt surfaces reminding her of all she had lost, and all she stood to gain.

In her Each-uisge form, her teeth were like knives.

They could only tear Madeleine’s flesh, not caress it.

Wanting.

What was that?

When H?ra thought of Madeleine, and wanting her, and Madeleine wanting her back, she no longer knew what that meant.

It had been clear once.

Want had been the same as hunger.

This seemed like hunger too, but H?ra felt no desire to rend Madeleine’s soft skin.

It would be nice to figure out what she desired instead.

It felt, as Jonathan sometimes said, on the tip of her brain.

She was on the verge of realizing the truth, but the harder she tried to work it out on her own, the more elusive it became.

Over the last few years, she’d learned that in times like this, you had to stop thinking and let the answer come to you on its own.

H?ra flopped back on her bed.

At ten o’clock, it was still light outside, but today had been tiring.

She’d drawn her heavy drapes that blocked out the sun, and now she picked up her mobile to play the ambient “ocean noises” sounds she liked to have at night.

It wasn’t the same as being in the sea, but it was a surprisingly good imitation.

Humans had many skills, including being able to record the rumble of underwater currents and the call of whales.

Now, H?ra could hear the sea in her bedroom.

She hit “play” and set the phone on the nightstand.

She’d changed into comfortable sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Needing little insulation, she used no duvet.

It was time to slow her metabolism down and sink into the half-conscious state of rest that would prepare her for the next day.

On her mobile, as part of the recording, a humpback whale sang out for a mate.

The sound made H?ra’s heart beat faster rather than slowing it down.

Mating calls were so personal.

In her former life, the herd had used them to track down whales and find the smaller fish that tended to surround them.

Now, in this life, alone in this room, the song sounded different.

“Come here,” the whale sang to a female, “join with me.”

H?ra squirmed in bed.

“Let challengers perish,” the whale continued.

“Let us be one . ”

She squeezed her thighs together.

The resultant pressure brought a warm, firm pulse between her legs that felt quite good.

She’d experienced this pulse before, but not often.

She knew what it was, too.

After she’d moved in, once she was getting on with reading, Jonathan had brought her a book written for adolescents about sex.

He’d been embarrassed when she’d had questions but had answered some of them.

For others, he’d begged her to go to the Internet.

She had, which had only raised more questions, as well as making her think that the males of the human species were nearly as brutal as her own kind.

When she’d shown Jonathan the evidence of this, he’d turned purple, told her to “stay the hell away from filthy videos,” and then fussed at her for giving the computer a virus.

He got her another book after that, one for human adults that had more information about pleasure and less about reproduction.

It had included information about men with women, men with men, and women with women.

None of it had stirred her.

H?ra had no attraction to humans in pictures or videos, and she was exposed to few in person.

She’d felt a similar pulse between her legs in the presence of a beautiful woman tourist she’d seen on a brief trip to the village, but it had passed quickly enough.

She’d decided it was just her human form’s way of consoling itself in a new environment.

Lying in bed, listening to seductive songs while thinking about Madeleine, was different.

H?ra bit her lower lip.

Her incisors pushed against the soft, full flesh.

All of a sudden, she imagined that she was biting Madeleine’s lower lip instead.

She gasped. She hadn’t meant to; the thought had drawn it out of her.

It drew something else out of her too: another pulse, stronger and hotter.

Without her will, her hand went between her legs to press against the pulse, as if trying to contain it.

It didn’t work. If anything, the pressure of her hand made everything worse—or better.

Her hips pushed forward, as if of their own volition, and H?ra’s eyes fell shut.

Her imagination swam ahead on its own.

In her mind’s eye, she loosened her teeth on Madeleine’s lip; her bite had drawn from Madeleine a groan, the kind she’d given on the beach that night.

Now, H?ra’s mouth softened.

Both her lips pressed to Madeleine’s, and Madeleine’s lips opened for her in return.

They exchanged the same kiss as on the beach that night all those years ago.

Sister Madeleine’s lips had been cold, but her mouth was warm.

And she’d opened it so readily for H?ra, as if she’d been waiting for her.

H?ra’s hand moved again, not just once.

This time, it began to rub back and forth as she touched herself through her sweatpants.

The rhythm, the changing pressure, made her hips rise and fall, chasing the sensation.

She didn’t mean to do any of this, any more than she’d meant to take Madeleine’s hand, or touch her arm, or pull her into a fierce embrace.

What was happening to her?

Madeleine had some strange effect on her—made H?ra act without thinking, pulled her out of herself, somehow?—

It felt so good.

She trembled at her own touch.

There was nothing like this in her true form.

Her kind had no sexual response save going into heat; she had never experienced that, and it had always sounded awful.

This was pure, self-indulgent pleasure that seemed to have no purpose other than shivering through her blood.

What would it be like if she touched her flesh more directly, instead of through fabric?

Would it feel even more enjoyable?

Only one way to find out.

H?ra made sure her bedroom door was fully closed—both Jonathan and the books had emphasized that human sexuality was a private matter.

Then, she shimmied out of her sweatpants and underwear, lay back down on the bed, and looked at the triangle of dark hair between her pale thighs.

It was rather striking, in a way she’d never considered before.

Did Madeleine look like this too?

At that thought, H?ra didn’t feel a pulse so much as an ache .

She bit her lip again, this time to stifle a gasp.

It would have been a loud gasp.

Thinking of Madeleine’s thighs, she pressed her fingers between her spread legs, against the bare flesh there.

Good thing she was biting her lip, still.

Without her clothes in the way, her fingers called forth a hotter, sharper response.

The noise she wanted to make was in her throat.

This was remarkable—not like touching her arms or legs or any other part of herself.

When she did that, her body didn’t change.

The rest of her body didn’t grow hot and heavy, it didn’t start to ache and plead for more.

Let it have more, then.

H?ra let her fingers roam.

When she pressed at her lips, she felt a delightful throb.

When she rubbed her fingertips against her entrance, it seemed to flutter, as if it had a mind of its own.

And the more she explored, the more sensitive she grew.

Sensitive, and…wet. The books had said that was normal too.

It was her body’s way of preparing for penetration.

H?ra had never been penetrated, at least not in this way.

How would it feel?

Only one way to find out about that, too.

Holding her breath, H?ra slid her right index finger inside herself.

The sensation was strange.

Intrusive. She wasn’t sure she liked it, although when she crooked her finger a bit, it felt better.

She crooked her finger more, and then faster, like the rhythm she’d tried over her pants, and her hips lifted for more of it, calling another gasp out of her.

One she couldn’t muffle.

It was wonderful! Were real human bodies like this too?

If H?ra slipped her finger inside Madeleine like this, would it be just the same?

Would Madeleine be wet, warm, and soft around her?

Would she like it if H?ra went at her this way?

H?ra’s finger stilled.

So did her mind, as she realized: she was thinking about having sex with Madeleine.

About doing to Madeleine what felt so good when H?ra did it to herself.

She was thinking, in detail, about having sex with a human woman, with Madeleine , which went far beyond an idle stir of interest at the sight of a stranger.

H?ra’s mouth sagged open, slack with disbelief.

She stared at the ceiling as if she’d never seen it before, her finger still wedged inside herself.

By the depths, was that what it was about?

Had she acclimated so wholly to this human shell of hers that she’d acquired a whole new kind of hunger?

She’d never seen it coming.

Now, though, she saw something else.

When she closed her eyes, she could only see one thing.

She saw Madeleine lying before her on a bed, her legs spread, while H?ra knelt over her and slid a finger inside her.

The same one she had inside herself right now.

Madeleine was wet too.

She was naked from the waist down because…

because she hadn’t wanted to wait, she was too desperate for H?ra to have her.

She was breathing quickly too, her breasts rising and falling beneath the sweater she’d worn last night at dinner.

H?ra had no idea what Madeleine’s body looked like beneath her clothes, but it was obvious that Madeleine’s breasts were bigger than her own, her hips curvier.

Her body would be as beautiful as her face.

There was no doubt of that.

And if it had responded so thoroughly to H?ra on the beach, when it had been covered in wet clothes, then it would respond even more without them.

H?ra had been naked.

If Madeleine were naked too…

beneath her…

If H?ra were kissing her again, only this time they were both naked, and if H?ra were also moving her fingers inside her…

She was doing it to herself again.

Frantic, hard, while her thighs shook and she gasped.

Madeleine . If she did this to Madeleine.

Madeleine’s face would flush, just like it had before.

Her pulse would go faster at the base of her throat, and H?ra could lick it, suck it, even bite it.

“Oh,” she gasped, “oh, oh.” She hadn’t been able to muffle it.

Maybe she could make Madeleine do that too.

Make her feel so good that she couldn’t stay quiet.

Madeleine’s voice was soft, low, rich.

H?ra imagined it saying oh, oh, oh .

Madeleine would look at H?ra the whole time while her full lips opened around her moans.

Her hips would rise and fall like H?ra’s were doing, chasing the sensation.

As she moved inside herself, the edge of H?ra’s hand brushed something above her entrance.

It was a sensitive spot, a little flap of flesh that responded with a brighter flare of pleasure.

She gasped again.

Then, carefully, she spread her legs wider, tilted her right hand, and touched the spot with her left one.

This time, she had to bite her lip so hard it hurt to keep from making a noise.

Touching this spot felt even better.

It was a little dry, though.

Inspired, H?ra withdrew her fingers from herself, sighing a little at the loss.

Then she stroked them, wet as they were, over the spot.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back.

It felt incredible .

She experimented, trying different angles and pressures until she had a rhythm going that made her whimper through her nose.

Faster, she should try going faster.

Her thighs were shaking again.

How would she do this to Madeleine?

She could lie next to her.

She could lie pressed next to Madeleine with her fingers between Madeleine’s thighs, stroking her just like this…

after being inside her, getting her slick so that it felt good…

while Madeleine writhed under H?ra’s hand, pleading for more…

Then she’d turn her head.

She’d open her mouth, pleading for the first thing they’d ever done together.

H?ra would give it to her.

They would kiss, deeply, the closest to devouring that H?ra could get while still keeping Madeleine’s soft skin safe.

She’d kiss Madeleine’s mouth, and stroke her between her legs, and make her moan, and—and?—

H?ra’s muscles stiffened, and the rising ache inside her crested.

She throbbed, clenched inside, exquisite spasms that scattered her thoughts into nothingness.

All she could think about was Madeleine’s mouth while her legs shook and a cry escaped her throat.

It seemed to go on and on as she stroked herself, coaxing out more and more pleasure with her own hands.

This was what it must feel like to soar among the clouds, borne up by a great pair of wings.

Then it was too much.

The wave crashed down on a rock, and H?ra’s skin was suddenly too sensitive for it to feel good anymore.

She pulled her fingers away, panting, reeling with shock.

Between her legs she was hot now, swollen and heavy.

Her entrance felt stretched, though not sore.

Still wet too. Dizzy and disbelieving, H?ra looked at her fingers.

The index one was coated with fluid, evidence of what she’d done to herself.

Orgasm. That’s what she’d just had.

The adult books about sex had talked about it.

They called it different things, although one of the most common terms had been “to come.” At first, that had confused H?ra.

Come where?

To a place of deep bliss, apparently.

She’d never imagined having an orgasm herself, that being an experience reserved for male Each-uisge .

They enjoyed the mating act, while females hoped to survive it.

Half of her species had clearly been robbed.

H?ra sighed. Coming was incredible.

Her body was relaxing now, melting into the mattress in a way it never had before.

Her heart rate was slowing, and the lips between her legs were still warm.

Her vulva—that was the name for it.

What was the sensitive spot called?

She’d forgotten. She’d have to look it up again.

Madeleine must do this to herself too.

Who wouldn’t? Who could deny themselves such pleasure when it was literally an arm’s length away?

H?ra certainly planned to do it again.

Often. What a pity it had taken her so long to discover the sensation.

And what a pity she couldn’t tell Madeleine about it yet, human sexual activity being private and all.

They’d have to be more comfortable with each other first. More intimate.

H?ra licked her wet fingertip.

It tasted salty. That was fitting.

Would Madeleine taste like this too?

Or was it another thing that was different for humans, like reduced physical strength and the need for fresh water?

She needed to look at those books again.

One of them had mentioned something about “oral sex,” which had intrigued H?ra at the time, close as it was to eating somebody.

If it would please Madeleine…

if H?ra’s hunger had turned from blood to sex…

She wiped her finger on the sheet and blinked at the ceiling.

From blood to sex. She was back where she’d started: wondering when she’d turned into someone who wanted to mate with a human.

The answer seemed obvious.

She’d wanted it almost the moment Madeleine had returned to her.

The question was where that desire slotted in alongside everything else: her need to return to the sea, her quest to become a Stormhorse, and what it would take to make that happen.

Strangely, she couldn’t summon interest in that just now.

How odd that such pleasure should make it hard to think or care about serious matters.

She only wanted to wear a foolish smile and bask in the aftermath as if she were lying on the grass beneath the sun.

It had been a long and confusing day.

H?ra might as well reward herself with this.

She let the lazy smile cross her face and slowed her heartbeat, her metabolic system, drifting into her rest state.

Everything would keep for now.

Somehow, she would find a way to see Madeleine tomorrow.

Jonathan would understand if she didn’t work on the farm.

The sun might come out again.

That would be nice.

“I have found you,” the whale sang.

“Let us begin.”

She should leave.

The notion seemed inconceivable.

Madeleine couldn’t believe she was entertaining it after being on Jorsay for two days when she’d planned for a month.

But now she sat in the tatty armchair of her hotel room nearly at midnight, staring at the airline app on her phone.

Changing her ticket would be expensive, but it might be worth it to escape.

Or she could text Becca.

Call her, even. There was something about hearing a human voice, especially when it belonged to someone who loved you.

Becca would love Madeleine even if she knew the truth.

Heck, Becca probably already knew, based on remarks she’d been dropping for years.

Remarks like Everyone deserves to be happy and There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different .

It would be the next best thing to a priest’s absolution.

After all, hadn’t Madeleine thought often that there were differing interpretations of homosexuality in Catholic doctrine?

That some progressive Catholics approved of it?

In her memory, her father lifted a scornful eyebrow.

That’s convenient, isn’t it?

he seemed to ask. Looking for excuses when it’s about you.

Her mother nodded in agreement while David shrugged indifferently.

“It’s not just about me,” Madeleine muttered, and her eyes widened as she heard herself say it.

She hadn’t meant to.

But she wasn’t wrong, was she?

It wasn’t just about her.

It was about Arjun and Jeremy too, whom she’d snubbed yesterday in the café.

(Had it only been yesterday?) It was about other people she’d met throughout the course of her life.

Like her former student Ava, who’d spoken earnestly to Madeleine about wanting to become a nun.

Now she was in graduate school and happy with a girlfriend.

Ava had been more honest with herself than Madeleine had been decades earlier, and now she was happy.

It was the funniest thing: Madeleine had never condemned her or even feared for her soul.

For all her knowledge of doctrine, she simply could not imagine a world in which God punished sweet, earnest Ava for finding a little happiness.

Why couldn’t Madeleine find that same happiness for herself?

Why shouldn’t she? She’d fled from the convent, then she’d fled from the confessional.

The only walls around her now were metaphorical, and she could take them down if she wanted.

Couldn’t she?

The phone display looked blurry.

Madeleine blinked, the tears streamed down her cheeks, and it became clear again.

She’ll set you free .

Madeleine gasped aloud.

The thought had struck her out of the blue, and she couldn’t tell where it had come from.

Surely not herself. Maybe in addition to being gay and a burgeoning heretic, she was hearing voices again.

Great.

That settled it.

Madeleine needed to get out of here.

She’d return to the safe familiarity of home and count this a wasted trip.

She navigated the app, looking for the option to change her flight.

Why did they make this so difficult?

Didn’t they want her to give them an outrageous amount of money?

It’s really too annoying, the voice murmured again.

And too expensive.

Madeleine winced as she finally found the “flight change option.” Too expensive was right.

She’d spent so much money already, depleting her savings for this trip that she intended now to abandon.

You should stay.

Her fingertip stilled over her phone display.

Stay here, and become free.

Free. The second time she’d thought the word.

Or someone else had thought it for her.

Maybe it didn’t matter who’d thought it.

What would it be like to be free—set loose from the bonds that held her so tightly they cut?

Tradition, doctrine, all of it.

What would that be like?

It was one of the most terrifying questions she’d ever asked.

How could it also be one of the most thrilling?

If she left Jorsay, she’d just be running back to her cage.

And for what? To surrender to her own cowardice instead of exploring what she’d been shown?

Madeleine had done as her angel had ordered her years ago.

She’d returned, and it would be the worst folly to turn tail and run before she had some answers.

She was ashamed of herself.

This was the thought of a coward, a defeatist—everything she’d told H?ra she wasn’t.

H?ra, again.

H?ra who was strange, who was rude, who was really intense, who was the most inexplicably attractive person Madeleine had ever met.

And who had an uncanny knack for looking right at things Madeleine would rather keep hidden.

Right. Madeleine was past being able to make sense of this.

She closed the airline app and tossed her phone onto the bed, where tonight she’d have more dreams. Would H?ra, her beautiful mouth, and her wicked hands feature in them?

Madeleine blushed. Her lusts seemed to have trapped her even more than religious doctrine.

Confession hadn’t helped her today, but maybe something else would.

She bowed her head and crossed herself to pray the Act of Hope.

“O my God,” she whispered, “relying on your infinite goodness and promises, I hope for pardon of my sins, the help of your grace and life everlasting, because you have promised it through the merits of Jesus Christ, my lord and redeemer.”

She paused.

That was the end of the prayer, but she felt no lighter or warmer, no more beloved.

One more thing seemed to be called for.

“Please,” she mumbled.

“I’m begging you. Amen.”