CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 36

DORIAN

The hall emptied after practice, voices fading into the evening.

I stayed back. Watching. Waiting.

Nico lingered too, too close to the choir stands, his slick smile glued to his face. Ezra had already gone—thank God—but the image of that bastard’s hand on his shoulder replayed in my head like a curse.

I stepped forward.

“Father Nico,” I said evenly.

He turned, still smiling. “Ah. Father Dorian. You wanted something?”

I didn’t answer right away. I stepped close—too close for comfort. My hand shot up, gripping his collar. Tight.

His eyes widened just a fraction before I leaned in.

“God bless you,” I said softly, pulling the fabric until it cut against his throat. I patted his chest once, twice. Not gentle. Not kind. “God bless you abundantly.”

He coughed, chuckled nervously. “Strong hands, Father.”

“You have no idea,” I muttered, releasing him.

For one delicious second, I pictured snapping his neck. Then I turned and walked away before the urge could grow.

Later that evening, Father Barnes called a meeting.

I entered the boardroom. Genevieve was already seated, spine straight, pearl necklace gleaming against her dark suit. Papers stacked neatly in front of her.

“Father Vale,” she said with her clipped, perfect accent. “Punctual, as always.”

“Mother Clarke.” I nodded.

Nico walked in next, late, like he wanted to be noticed. He smoothed his collar—my grip had left it wrinkled. Good.

“Apologies,” he said with a too-bright smile. “So many duties, so little time.”

Genevieve’s eyebrow twitched. “If time management is an issue, Father Nico, perhaps you should prioritize better.”

He laughed lightly, sliding into his chair. “Ah, always straight to the point. Admirable.”

I sat, folding my hands, jaw tight.

Father Barnes cleared his throat. “We’ll begin. First: the retreat follow-up. Reports are positive, youth attendance was strong. We must maintain that energy.”

“Yes,” Nico said smoothly, “and perhaps more personal guidance for certain members. They respond better when… nurtured.”

My jaw flexed.

Genevieve’s lips thinned. “Father Nico, the youth respond to structure. Discipline. Not indulgence.”

“Oh, of course,” he replied, raising his hands. “But warmth can be as effective as rules.”

I spoke at last, my voice sharp enough to cut. “Rules are there to protect. Warmth without boundaries burns.”

Barnes shot me a quick look, but Nico only smiled. “You sound… passionate, Father Dorian.”

I didn’t take the bait. “I am clear.”

We moved on. Schedules, donations, the bishop’s next visit. Genevieve noted every number crisply. Nico kept making side comments, smug, slick.

“Perhaps my methods are less… rigid,” he said at one point, smirking.

Genevieve snapped her head toward him. “Rigid keeps the Church upright. Without it, men fall. Surely you understand that, Father Nico.”

The silence afterward was sharp enough to draw blood.

I almost smiled. Almost.

Finally, Father Barnes gestured for me to close the meeting.

“Father Dorian,” he said, “would you lead us in prayer?”

I rose slowly. My hands were steady, but inside—inside I was boiling.

“Lord,” I began. “Thank You for gathering us. Thank You for wisdom. Thank You for discipline.”

I closed my eyes. But all I could see was Nico’s hand on Ezra. Ezra flinching. Ezra looking small, fragile.

My fists curled.

“Guide us,” I said tightly. “Help us protect the innocent. And remove all deceit from among us.”

“Amen,” the others echoed.

I sat back down, but the fire in my chest didn’t dim.

Amen didn’t mean peace. Not tonight.

Because every word of that prayer was laced with one thought, pounding in my skull, over and over—

Ezra is mine to protect.

And if Nico tries again, I’ll make sure his last breath is in my hands.

Chairs scraped back as the meeting ended. Genevieve gathered her papers with crisp precision, pearls glinting under the light. Nico smirked at me one last time before gliding out, smooth as oil.

I stayed seated until the room cleared. My pulse was still pounding.

“Father Vale,” Father Barnes’s voice cut across the silence.

I looked up. He was standing by the door, one hand resting on the frame. His eyes—tired, but sharp—were fixed on me.

“Yes, Father?”

“Stay a moment.”

I forced myself to nod. Genevieve swept out with a polite smile. “Good night, gentlemen.”

When the door closed, the air changed.

Barnes motioned to the chair across from his. “Sit.”

I obeyed. My hands folded on my lap, calm on the outside. Inside, every thought was Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. And Nico’s filthy hand.

Barnes leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You’ve been restless.”

I stiffened. “Restless?”

“Your sermons are sharp. Your prayers are sharper. And just now—you nearly snapped Nico’s head off.” His voice was low, steady. “So I’ll ask plainly. Are you all right?”

I pressed my lips together. “Yes.”

“Father Vale.” His tone deepened. “You know I have known many men who wore the collar. Some strong, some weak. All tempted. You are no different.”

My pulse kicked.

“I am not tempted,” I said evenly.

He studied me, long and hard. “Not by power. Not by money. But something has your jaw clenched every time you step into this church.”

I forced a smile. Polite. Hollow. “I am fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” He leaned back, sighing. “Because temptation grows in silence. Speak it out, and it loses power. Hide it, and it festers.”

I met his gaze. Held it. My face didn’t move. My chest burned.

Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Go with God.”

I rose, bowing slightly. “Good night, Father.”

“Good night, Dorian.”

The hallway outside felt colder. My hands shook, just slightly, until I shoved them in my pockets.

Tempted.

If only he knew.

Tempted wasn’t the word. Consumed was.

Ezra’s laugh. Ezra’s blush. Ezra pressed against me, grinding like he didn’t even know what he was doing.

I clenched my teeth.

I told Barnes no.

But every step I took toward my office, the lie echoed back at me.

Yes.

Yes, Father. I am tempted.

And God help me, I don’t want to stop.

************

The parish was quiet at night. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where my mind slipped free, chasing me into places I didn’t want to go.

I closed my eyes.

And there he was.

Ezra.

On his knees in the confessional, lips parted, eyes wide with innocence and sin all at once. Whispering my name instead of a prayer. My hand buried in his curls, guiding him—

I jolted awake.

Sweat clung to my skin. My breath came fast. My body was hard, aching.

“God damn it,” I hissed into the dark, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead.

This wasn’t just temptation anymore. It was poisoning me from the inside.

I shoved out of bed, tugged on running shoes, and stepped into the night air. The parish grounds stretched empty, shadows bending under the faint glow of streetlamps.

I started to run.

One lap around the church. Then another. Then another.

My breath tore at my throat, but I didn’t stop. I muttered under my breath, each word grinding out with every step.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

Footsteps pounding.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

Sweat dripping.

“He restores my soul—”

I stumbled to a halt, chest heaving.

Nothing restored. Nothing quiet. Just Ezra’s face, flushed, looking up at me like—

“Enough,” I spat. My fists clenched.

I dragged myself back inside, peeling off my shirt, sweat soaking my skin. I went straight to my office, flicked on the lamp, tried to drown in paperwork.

But the laptop pinged.

New email.

My gut twisted before I even opened it.

No subject line. Just text.

> Men like you shouldn’t wear collars. You think no one sees you? You’re wrong. I see everything.

I stared at it. My jaw locked.

Senator Cross. It had to be.

I slammed the laptop shut so hard the desk rattled. My hands shook as I reached for the glass of water beside me, took one swallow—then hurled it against the wall.

It shattered, shards scattering across the floor, water dripping down the paint like tears.

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

“Come for me, then,” I growled to the empty room. “Come for me and see what happens.”