Uthiel suddenly looked uncomfortable, and the teasing glint in his eyes dimmed. Guilt engulfed Briar for asking something that obviously he didn’t wish to talk about. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she shouldn’t have pried.
As quickly as the tense moment happened, it disappeared. Uthiel graced her with such a smile, her panties dampened from its effect.
“I’ve seen a dragon or two in my time. We can discuss them later if you like. But for now, I suggest we get inside.”
She started to open the classroom door, then hesitated. “You’re in my Healing the Soul 101 class? I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I have not been. This is indeed the first day of the semester for me. I was unavoidably detained…elsewhere, but I’m normally a quick study. I hope to catch up without too much trouble. Perhaps you could help me…study.”
Briar glanced over her shoulder at Uthiel. “Why would a paladin in the graduate program take a Healing the Soul 101 class? No offense meant, of course, but don’t paladins normally cause damage, not heal it? I mean, I could see the value of, perhaps, a Healing the Body class. That would come in handy in your chosen field. You know, for those times when you fall off your horse or scrape your knee with your sword or such?”
Uthiel’s face had changed. Gone was the easy smile. His eyes were lifeless, and his stance stiff.
Briar clamped her mouth shut, suddenly realizing she’d said the wrong thing again.
“Trust me, my lady, by outward appearances alone there is no way of telling who may or may not have need of a Healing of the Soul class. I don’t require this course to finish my degree. My father, however, believes this class will…benefit me, so I agreed to take it.
“Headmistress Seychelle is a friend of the family. When my father asked her to get me admitted to Healing the Soul 101, she did it. That’s it.”
Uthiel looked as if he wanted to say more. Briar held her breath, waiting. She didn’t know why it was so important he trust her, but only that it was.
An expression that could have been relief softened the planes of his face, and his pupils dilated ever so slightly as he sighed and relaxed his stance.
“Though my father and I aren’t on the finest of terms at the moment, I know he has my best interest at heart. And I am nothing if not a dutiful son, at least in most things.”
Briar smiled, hoping to encourage him to continue with the explanation she somehow doubted he shared with very many.
“But, if you ask me, you’re right,” he shrugged. “It probably will be a waste of time. I have no doubt I’d be better off out in the lists, learning advanced techniques with my sword in order to better protect the realm. But then, who ever really knows why things turn out the way they do. Perhaps it’s destiny, my lady, and by being in the same class with you, there may be no end to the important secrets of healing I might learn.”
Briar nodded. If Uthiel was willing to trust her enough to honestly answer her questions, could he possibly be the one person in all of Albrath her own secret would be safe with? If her trust in him turned out to be a mistake, it could mean her immediate suspension from The Academy.
Divulging her secret wasn’t a chance Briar was willing to take lightly. Becoming a True Healer was more important than the omission of the tiny but extremely important fact that she was still a virgin.
But what was she going to do about her secret? How was she ever going to remedy the situation without confiding in and receiving help from someone? These were the questions that plagued her thoughts almost every waking moment and had been the themes of her recent nightmares since arriving at The Academy.
How had she managed to overlook something so very basic for so long?
More importantly, would anyone really consider the smudge she’d placed between the yes and no answers to question number five on her entrance application…a lie?
Chapter Two
“Miss Tumbleweed. And you must be Mr. Stoutheart. It’s so good of you to grace us with your presence today. Almost a quarter turn of the hourglass late, I might add.”
Briar grimaced. “I’m s…so…sorry Mr. Chamman. It’s my…my fault.” Heat crept even higher up her cheeks as she stuttered. It was something she hadn’t done in years.
The Healing the Soul instructor folded his arms. “Just don’t make a habit of it. I’ve had students pairing up today with who’ll be their partners for the remainder of the semester. Since you and Mr. Stoutheart arrived together, you’ll be partners. Please take cubicle seven quickly so we may begin.”
Briar perused the room for cubicle seven. All week long, the rule had been to sit in whichever cubicle had space, so she hadn’t paid attention to the numbers. She did now. Her eyes finally lit on the right cubicle, finding it between numbers five and eleven.
This was the strangest classroom she’d ever seen. The largest part of the room consisted of the eleven cubicles situated around the walls. Three along the back―numbers nine, ten and eleven―and four on each side. The right contained the odd-numbered spaces, and the left the evens.
The cubicles were opaque and couldn’t be seen into from the outside. But from the inside, the occupants could easily see the instructor at his podium―as well as whatever was happening on the demonstration platform―through what appeared to be crystal-clear glass. The only item inside each cubicle—besides a response button―was a fairly narrow bed. Even with it placed against the back wall, it took up the majority of the cubicle’s small space. The entire depth of each compartment was no more than five feet.
A sound spell afforded the students privacy within their cubicles. Unless their response button was pressed, no one outside of a cubicle could hear any sounds coming from inside. However, any sounds of pain or anger, Mr. Chamman had explained on the first day of class, were another thing entirely. Those sounds were sent straight to him at the podium via a safety device.
The square demonstration platform took up the majority of the classroom’s open area. Today, like every day, the structure was raised approximately two feet off the floor and covered with thick, white fur, and strewn with multi-colored satin pillows of all shapes and sizes.
Mr. Chamman’s teaching podium was squeezed into a small space just inside the door, which left only a narrow trail around the room to tread between the platform’s edges and the cubicle doors.
Unlike the cubicles, the platform and the podium had no sound spell. Students could hear everything—even the slightest whisper—that came from the common area of the classroom.
Briar and Uthiel entered number seven, took a seat on the bed with their backs against the wall, and listened intently as Mr. Chamman spoke.
“As I’ve said all week, healing the soul is the most difficult type of heal you can perform. Although this is your first semester, and this is Healing the Soul 101, the principles you will learn here are building blocks you’ll need for the rest of your career.
“For healing the body, you have all manner of potions, salves, and bandages. For healing the mind, you have numerous spells and incantations. But for healing the soul, you have only your own body and what’s inside yourself. You must use every ounce of talent you possess to properly diagnose the situation and treat the soul accordingly.”
The instructor paused for a breath and Briar took a deep one of her own, clinging to every word Mr. Chamman said as if it was made of purest platinum. This was her dream and it was coming true. What she’d been waiting her whole life for was finally happening. Awe filled her as it had every single time she’d sat in this classroom over the past week.
Uthiel shifted his weight beside her. How could she have forgotten his presence? A wave of heat flooded her body and drowned out the instructor’s words.
Briar held her breath as Uthiel’s leg brushed her own. She was so flustered by it, she missed some of what Mr. Chamman was saying.
Fortunately for her, he stepped onto the platform and spoke in a commanding voice, “If you take nothing else from my class the entire s
emester, please take these words to heart: To heal the soul, you must be willing to give all of yourself―body, mind, and soul―every single time you attempt this kind of heal. Healing the soul begins with a heal of the heart. For, if the soul has been damaged, the trauma began in the heart and seeped into the soul. Without healing the heart first, you have no chance of getting in touch with the soul. The heart is the only true pathway. With and through the strength of your own heart is your best hope for success.”
Uthiel shifted his weight once more and butterflies fluttered deep in Briar’s belly. She wasn’t sure if it was because of his close proximity or Mr. Chamman’s stimulating lecture, but Uthiel Stoutheart’s leg touching her own certainly wasn’t helping the situation.
But it didn’t matter what was causing the strange reaction―she just wanted it to stop. How was a girl supposed to concentrate with tingles racing along her spine?
She forced her attention back to the lecture, albeit unsuccessfully. Just when she thought the sensations couldn’t get any stronger, they did, thanks to Uthiel. He had placed a hand to the small of her back and was now drawing invisible circles through her tunic. Taking a really big breath, Briar fought to ignore him and focus on Mr. Chamman.
“Enough lecture for today, class. I have no doubt you’ve become more than a little tired of listening to me rattle on all week about trust issues, personality tests, and IQ versus EQ, let alone pairing the right healer with the right patient, and so on.
“For today’s class, we’ll leave those intriguing subjects behind and concentrate on the first treatment modality you’ll be using.”
Uthiel’s distracting touch ceased, and Briar breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he was as intrigued with the change of subject as she was…although she was still embarrassingly aware of his leg brushing hers from hip to knee.
“Those of you who are cross-training might know the Mystic Arts instructor is my lovely wife, Krystalynn. She has graciously agreed to help with our first healing demonstration of the semester.”
The door opened and in walked a stunning woman. Although she was only about five feet tall, what this creature didn’t have in height, she more than made up for in presence. From what Briar could tell, Krystalynn—like her husband—was of human origin, but, oh, what a human she was!
Her eyes drew Briar in first. They were a bright sky blue, with long, dark lashes. Briar strained to get a closer peek at her teacher’s wife. Tiny lines around the woman’s eyes attested to the fact she laughed often and well. She even had a smattering of pale freckles across her pert nose.
Briar smiled and glanced at Uthiel to gauge his reaction, but Mr. Chamman spoke again and Briar forced her attention back to him.
“Who can tell me the three stages of healing a soul? No one? Come now, we’ve been talking this to death all week.”
She wanted to answer, but stopped just short of pressing the response button to the right of the bed. Would Uthiel think she was a know-it-all, or, worse yet, a bookworm? But why should it matter if he did?
Still, she hesitated.
Mr. Chamman shook his head. “If any of you expect to pass this class, I suggest you pay better attention to detail. This is the last time I’ll go over these basics. Trust me when I say they’ll be on a quiz or two, probably the midterm, and definitely the final.”
Briar sighed, hating to disappoint her instructor.
Mr. Chamman was the complete opposite of his wife. Where she was short, he stood well over six feet tall, probably closer to seven. Where Krystalynn was light complexioned, he was deeply tanned. Where her hair held lovely shades of golden wheat, his was as black as night.
Mr. Chamman once more cleared his throat. “The three Ds, people, remember? Discover, diagnose, and decide.” He looked around, then continued.
“The first stage of healing a soul is discovery. You must ask your patient questions, get his or her pertinent history, and dig for the root of the problem. The next stage, as we have already discussed, is diagnosis. This involves further, deeper investigation. Sometimes this means doing a battery of tests, sometimes simply relying on gut instinct―whatever it takes. Finally comes deciding on the best course of treatment.”
Uthiel’s hand came to rest lightly against the small of Briar’s back, momentarily startling her.
He whispered near her ear, his breath like a refreshing spring breeze against her fevered skin. “Feel free to discover, diagnose, and decide on what you would like to do with me. Whenever, wherever, you wish, my lady. I am your servant.”
Warmth from each of his fingertips seeped through her thin, white, novice healer’s tunic and straight into her spine. Though she realized it was probably just the product of her overactive imagination, sparks of awareness flowed outward before settling deep into the pit of her stomach.
Briar squirmed and fidgeted, not sure if she wanted to escape this new phenomenon or embrace it. She settled for taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the paladin for the moment. Instead, she concentrated on listening to the instructor, whose words she was having difficulty following.
“…and so the one thing you must always keep in the forefront of your mind is the importance of your patient’s trust. Souls are most commonly damaged from years of undiagnosed pain, so it’s imperative the person you’re working with becomes comfortable with you and knows without a doubt your treatment will be pain-free. And, as we all know, the opposite of pain is pleasure―for most of us, anyway. We’ll probably have time to delve into fetishes and such before the end of the semester, but that’s for another day.”
Briar stared at her instructor, trying her best to focus on anything other than the warmth of Uthiel Stoutheart’s fingertips along her spine, and the sparks of awareness that were now wreaking havoc in her belly.
“In today’s exercise, we’ll assume this couple has already progressed beyond the initial simple-trust exercises of talking, kissing, caressing, and fondling, and they’re now well into the beginning stages of true treatment.
“My first step of treatment is typically what I refer to as Oral Stimulation Therapy, and that, class, is what Krystalynn and I are going to demonstrate today.”
Briar held her breath as Mr. Chamman turned toward his wife. His eyes were a rich, inviting, dark brown, and his shoulders were broad―just the right size for a woman to rest her head on and unburden her worries. He was a perfect foil to Krystalynn’s blonde daintiness, Briar decided, as the man gazed lovingly at his wife.
Briar scooted closer to the edge of the bed in hopes of getting an even better view. A moment later, not only did Uthiel scoot up too, but he also shifted his body until he touched her from shoulder to hip, his fingers continuing their torturous teasing of her spine.
Swallowing was no longer possible as her mouth grew desert-dry, and her lungs labored to catch what air they could draw in. Tiny shockwaves pulsed rhythmically from the base of her spine and up around her hips, until they joined into a throbbing need between her thighs. It was all she could do to stay upright, let alone concentrate on what was happening in the classroom.
Mr. Chamman held his hand out to Krystalynn and she came to his side. Taking her small hand in his and never breaking eye contact, he brought her fingers to his lips. In slow motion, he kissed each individual finger lightly, turned her hand over, and ran the tip of his tongue slowly from palm to wrist.
Uthiel’s fingertips slid the length of Briar’s arm before taking her hand into his and doing exactly what Mr. Chamman had just done with his wife. The sparks of awareness ricocheting in her belly―and the tingles his touch had already elicited in her spine―exploded into seismic shockwaves of delight. She held her breath, not wanting the sensations to stop, as she fought hard to focus on the classroom demonstration playing out before her.
Krystalynn’s sigh drifted throughout the room, and her soft drawl cooed, “That’s nice, that’s verrrry, verrrry nice.”
Briar wanted to coo also. As a matter of fact, she wanted nothing more in all of
Albrath but to laugh and giggle, snuggle up closer to Uthiel, and lie back and enjoy him, just as Krystalynn was enjoying Mr. Chamman.
She couldn’t relax and simply enjoy it, though. What had started as Uthiel playfully teasing a response from her had now morphed into something entirely different.
The shockwaves his fingertips created encompassed her entire backside, but it wasn’t the only affected part of her body. Her pussy thrummed to life, and her nipples grew embarrassingly hard. They poked straight out from the thin fabric of her tunic.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed to a rosy, romantic hue. Briar gasped as, in a single fluid movement, the instructor enveloped his wife in his long, muscular arms, gently laid her upon the satin pillows, and followed her down to the plush fur.
The platform slowly rotated. Since it was no more than a couple of feet from the front edge of the cubicles, no matter where a student was, he or she could see every detail of the demonstration.
Mr. Chamman caressed Krystalynn’s arms and neck, and ever so lightly kissed her lips. She opened her mouth to him, and their dancing tongues filled Briar’s sight. The handsome teacher nibbled his wife’s ear, and she giggled. He grasped a breast, and she sighed.
So did Briar.
And gasped a moment later. Once again, Uthiel matched the movements of the instructor. His featherlight kisses upon her sensitive ears and neck had her shivering with anticipation. She took deep breaths, trying with only limited success to watch the demonstration before her.
Mr. Chamman’s hand wandered to the juncture of Krystalynn’s thighs, and she rose to meet it. The gossamer-thin, forest-green gown she wore disappeared with a wave of his hand, revealing a blemish-free body the shade of fresh cream.
His fingers toyed within her moist, golden curls-first one, then two slipping in and out of her pussy and disappearing within her folds.
Krystalynn moaned. Her red lips parted, her breath came in quick, short pants, and her eyes closed.
The Academy Volume One Page 2