Damian Priest Age の小説・ストーリー

None of them could stop blabbering about Grandmasters son Hendric; they heard he was, quote, ‘dreamy’ and had high hopes of falling under his b***s if it turned out to be the truth. Damian had put his second in command in the first car cuz even though Noah was initially supposed to travel with him, his constant yakking of finding a witch female to spend the night with had really started to get on his nerves. Damian was well aware that it was a running joke around the pack that he was 27 and still not mated at his age, and he did not want that trip to turn into yet another session of “let’s find what is wrong with Damian” quizzes.

With a growl that shook the room, he grabbed the man by the neck, lifting him with ease. The priest struggled, his legs kicking wildly as Damian’s grip tightened, but it was no use. The life drained from him, his body going limp. With a disgusted grunt, Damian flung the corpse across the room. The remaining priests fell to their knees, bowing low in fear. The one who had guided Damian into the darkness merely smiled. ************* Back at the hut, Cathrine grinned, unaware of the storm brewing elsewhere. “Luca, come on, let’s go hunting. I’m craving meat.”

Under the robes he could see that she was slightly built but she kept her head bowed, allowing him a single glimpse of a pale face under flowing black and white. Unmoved by her pious attitude, Damian leaned back in his chair and scrutinised his unwanted visitor. ‘If you’re expecting me to confess my sins then I should probably tell you that my next appointment is in an hour and that is nowhere near long enough for me to tell you all the bad things I’ve done in my life. On the other hand if you’re about to beg for cash then you should know that all my charitable donations are handled through my lawyers, via a separate part of my company. I just make the money. I leave other people to spend it

"I need you to prepare a confidential agreement." He listened, then continued with clipped precision. "Yes. No assistants, no secretaries." His voice hardened like tempered iron. “Just you.” He glanced at me briefly. "I'll explain the details when you arrive." The call ended abruptly. "Who was that?" I asked, curiosity overriding my nerves. "My personal lawyer." Damien returned with deliberate calm. "He's been keeping my family's secrets for nearly twenty years." The words offered little comfort. "Can he be trusted?"

"You left the family and became a priest and you met me in a confessional and we fell in love and you fought a war to protect me." "A priest?" He pulled his hand away. "Now I know you're lying, I'm not exactly the religious type and I definitely don't fall in love with teenage girls." "I'm nineteen and you're thirty-five and this is real." I was begging now. "You have to remember, you have to fight to get those memories back." "I think you have me confused with someone else." Damien was looking around the room like he was planning escape routes. "And I need to get back to my father before he thinks I've betrayed him."

Damien replied, his voice filled with disdain. "Is that not what you wanted in the first place?" the priest inquired, taking a sip of his coffee and maintaining his calm demeanor. Damien averted his gaze, lost in his thoughts. "He is living the life you wanted for him, so please visit him, praise and congratulate that ominous lunatic yourself," the priest remarked, continuing to sip his coffee while fixing a slight grin on his face as he observed Damien intently. Damien let out a sigh and stared out the window, absentmindedly twirling his fingers in mid-air, deep in contemplation.

He answered. “Okay. He is probably in his late twenties or early thirties, he was heavily built, he has blue orbs and dirty blond hair. Recognize anyone with those features??” I asked. “Hmmm yeah. Matthew, only difference is that Matthew has brown orbs instead.” Damian answered. “I know who Matthew is and that clearly wasn’t him. I almost forgot. He has a black mole on his left cheek.” I said. Damian froze when I mentioned the mole. “What did you just say??” He asked as he suddenly became very serious.

I wasn’t to gather any information, just pick up any red flags during my interview. Oh, what else? Right Damien is left-handed. He had a sweet tooth, he loved watching football. He even played in high school, until a knee injury. His knee pains when it’s raining or cold. Damien makes a mean sandwich but can’t cook to save his life. He loved eating Mia’s food the most. I’ve also learnt Mia isn’t the help, more like the protector of all the Priest secrets. Damien has degrees in business, finance, and sports administration. He’s lifelong goal is to buy a football team. He’s looking into Phili or the Chief’s.

Then, he scoffed arrogantly and looked the other way. Damien had already reached the meeting room and was now sitting with the elders. "What is the matter? Why did you people sound so worried?" Damien inquired. If it wasn't as important and they made it seem, he was ready to make them pay it disturbing him. These old fogies had the tendency of exaggerating the situations most times so he wouldn't be surprised if their alarm wasn't valid.

The Priest didn't move like a man of God. He moved like a shadow seeking a place to rest. He kept the pistol leveled at the center of Damian’s chest, his finger draped casually over the trigger with the practiced ease of someone who had extinguished more lives than he had blessed. ​Damian stood perfectly still. I could feel the heat radiating off his back, a solid wall of charcoal wool and repressed violence. My own heart was a frantic bird caught in the cage of my ribs, beating against the spine of the journal I still held. I looked at the paper on the portable press. The ink had finally stabilized, the deep, authoritative black etching a single word across the 17th-century linen.