Clouded Purity - Book 2 of The Trial

Clouded Purity - Chapter 3

Prism stepped back from Ghayle's touch, momentarily reeling from the weight of memory. After he recovered and reassessed his condition, he turned a narrow-eyed stare on Ghayle and asked, "What was that supposed to tell me, Ghayle? My life was hardly a good example of the state of the world. I was a poor boy who didn't understand how the world worked, not then, and not when it collapsed."

"So that you understand your place in the world," Ghayle replied, nodding in approval. Her hand remained poised in the air as if expecting him to come back to it to resume the experience. "That wasn't all I wished to show you, but you pulled away. You fear what comes next."

Prism snorted in annoyance. "Fear? Have you known me to show fear in all the years we've known each other? As a boy, perhaps, but not since I fought my first demon have I felt real fear. No," he shook his head firmly, "I simply have no wish to relive it. Those were the hardest days of my youth, which led to an adulthood spent entirely on the front lines of a battle against hordes of demons. Demons you summoned."

Ghayle sighed but did not lower her hand. "It's important, Prism. You must understand the state of things. Perhaps if I showed you someone familiar, you'd be more comfortable? I can access more than your memories, Prism. I'm connected to everyone still living in this world."

Prism smirked, immediately inferring the meaning of her words. "So, you'd show me Grim's?"

"There were other's I could've picked," Ghayle replied with a slight smile.

"Neither Veil nor Neredos is familiar to me anymore. Grim still has the same look in his eyes. He still loves the world, no matter how much pain he has," Prism said confidently. "If you're telling me there are others still alive from those times . . ." he laughed despite the weight of their conversation and added, "I'm surprised enough as it is that there are four of us still alive."

"Three," Ghayle corrected. "You're dead."

"Right . . ." Prism said, touching his very substantial body before giving Ghayle a knowing look. "Hard to think of it that way now." He shrugged and sat back on the log. "Very well, Ghayle, lead me into the darkness of the past. I suppose I can't pass up the opportunity to touch Grim, now can I?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Grim lounged across a chair in his sitting room—the chair easiest to clean. He remained shirtless and covered in paint but too exhausted to clean up. Especially considering his mental state. The human boy from the streets, Prism, wouldn't leave his thoughts.

He'd heard about the Fedain curse his whole life. Of course, there was nothing mystical about it, and 'curse' was a misnomer. It was wired into Fedain biology, but right now the 'curse' label seemed appropriate. Fedain had a peculiar sensitivity to pheromones, and every so often would meet someone with the right chemical composition to completely addle their otherwise sane brains.

Prism's pheromones had just the right composition to affect Grim in maddening ways, and he couldn't get Prism's scent from his mind. It was cerebral and instinctive at the same time, a longing for both physical and mental intimacy, and impossible to ignore completely.

The effects magnified during puberty. Though Grim hadn't finished passing through that horrid period of adolescence. If he'd spent any more time with Prism, he doubted he'd have maintained control, no matter how public his displays of affection would've become. When Prism's knife had rested at Grim's throat and he'd held their naked skin together, death had been the furthest thing from Grim's mind.

The longer he relived the memory of their skin to skin contact, the more aroused he became, and he undid the clasp on his belt. His other hand drifted lower, rubbing his erection through the heavy cloth separating him from his carnal pleasure.