Priest Novels & Stories

the priest said, “Do you know anyone that can help us In our research,?“Henry said, “Are you a researcher,” the priest asked. “Not really, but I have Interest In studying supernatural creatures and magical powers,” Henry explained, “I will direct you to someone else, he might be of help,” the priest explained,

The tall priest, Katchkey, stood, his hands hooked behind his back, staring at one of the photos. “What they said was true, Bramato,” he said. His words were a whisper, hard to hear even in the quiet of an early-afternoon church. She walked closer. “On that hallowed, hollowed patch of earth where you rest your head.” “I’m sorry, what?” Drawing closer, she noticed the black under his eyes and the sallow skin. The cheeks sunken and gaunt. Cheekbones sharp like razors beneath the yellowed flesh. “Does that hallowed, hollowed patch allow prayer, Sister?” he said, pausing and then laughing. “Sister.” He shook his head.

Confess her sins maybe? It was only now that she had gotten close enough to get a good look at the priest on the alter. He looked young, perhaps somewhere between his early to late twenties. He wore a black cassock, along with a silver cross dangling over his chest. He had slightly curly dark brown hair and dark eyes. She found yourself immediately drawn to him. He had this angelic, yet somehow dark, powerful aura all around him and in the words he spoke. She listened intently as he preached the words of God, his voice deep and serious

No, scratch that, still kinky. “Mister Vincent, I believe we should start the ceremony first and deal with the less important matters after it?” One of the priests dares to speak. I shoot him a glare and the man pales, quickly raising both hands in surrender, “on the second hand, don’t listen to me, I am nothing but an old fool, I have no idea what I’m talking about.” “My man,” I say with a wide grin and wink at him. I like that guy, he knows his place better than any maggot around here does. Totally cool dude.

I moved faster through the incoming parishioners, pulse loud in my ears. Then the catechist stepped forward to make the morning announcements. A new priest would be assisting for the time being. The words landed in sequence, each one cutting the hope cleaner than the last. New priest. Not returning priest. Not Father Riven. A different name was read out—foreign to my mouth, useless. The man in the black cassock was invited toward the altar. He turned fully into the light. Wrong face. Wrong age. Wrong eyes. He smiled at the congregation. Cassian almost never smiled."The mask felt slow to rise.”

A thin stream of smoke rose from a hole in the roof and dispersed into the canopy above. He dismounted. Tied his horse. Stood at the edge of the clearing for a moment. The door opened before he knocked. The priest was older than Varek had expected, which was saying something because he had expected very old. He was small and slight and moved with the particular economy of someone whose body had become entirely subservient to whatever lived inside it, a vehicle rather than a presence. His eyes were pale, almost colorless, and they settled on Varek with an attention so complete and so unhurried that it felt, briefly and uncomfortably, like being read.

"Give me a fucking name or a lead. Something useful, or I swear, you'll wish that bullet you fired today had been in your own skull." He swallowed hard. "There's... there's a priest. He's a young guy. He goes by Father Elijah. He runs a small parish on the south side. Black Scorpion goes to him for... confession or advice. I don't know." I released him and straightened up. "See how easy that was?" The sniper exhaled, probably thinking the worst was over. It wasn't. "Clean it up," I told Roman. "And make sure he doesn't walk out of here."

, he said and the people cheered again. After we dismissed the mass, he and father Cyprian stood at the door way, greeting people as they went home. I was still very confused. Nuel was a priest? He never mentioned it to me all along, and he allowed me to get intimate with him when he knew too well that he was a priest. What the fuck?

The congregation remained blissfully unaware. But I wasn’t. He knew that I knew. And now he was drawing the boundary publicly. “A priest,” he continued calmly, “does not belong to himself. His life is not his own. His heart is not his own. He has given it.” A soft murmur of reverence moved through the pews. I felt something twist painfully in my chest. Given. “As have many of you,” he added, widening the net to keep the congregation unaware. “Marriage. Parenthood. Service. Every sacred calling requires sacrifice.”

The old man was staring toward Christopher with a troubled expression. “There is something deeply wrong.” The hall quieted again. My jaw tightened. “What do you mean?” The priest hesitated briefly before speaking carefully. “How is Christopher related to you?” The question felt strange. “He is my late brother’s son.” The priest’s expression darkened further. “No,” he said quietly. “I do not believe he is.” Silence crashed through the chamber. Christopher froze. So did I. “What?” The priest stepped closer slowly, his gaze fixed on the place where the sacred flames had stood earlier.