Priest 소설 & 이야기

"You think I'm dumb like your dumb ass?" I swallowed. "Say shit one more time," he dared. I held his gaze nervously but lowered my eyes as tears filled them again. He dragged me along, heading close to the altar. I felt the need to cry my eyes out as we got to the priest. "We here," Big Kai said to the priest who nodded slightly. "Welcome, Big Kai," the priest said with a tiny smile as his eyes moved to me. He is a tall young priest who looks like he could be around Big Kai's age. I don't know his age.

That's also the reason Camden never improves. "And I hope we see each other again next Sunday!" I blinked several times when the priest bid his goodbye to us. Well, if I'm not mistaken, his name is Joseph Walter. From what I've heard from the rumors, he was a priest from another chapel before he assigned here; I remembered hearing that he used to take advantage of nuns. But seriously, I hope that's not true or I'm going to puke on his face right now. I lost count of the time. My father forbade me to open my phone because I kept looking at it the whole time.

<|control12|>The Confessional Flames I never thought my priesthood would lead me here, tangled in a web of forbidden desires that burned hotter than any hellfire sermon I’d ever preached. My name is Father Elias, and at 28, I was the epitome of devotion—or so the parish believed. Tall, with a lean build from years of seminary discipline, my green eyes and short dark hair made me look approachable, trustworthy. But beneath the cassock, doubts and urges simmered, especially since Luca and Marco entered my life.

Almost hypnotised by the sight of it, a blur of black smeared the edge of my vision, and I glanced across the road to see a priest crossing in front of a gelato parlour, a tan leather satchel clutched under his arm, his heavy, dark robes swishing behind him as he walked. I gasped and pushed myself instinctively closer to Ethan, who squeezed my hand in return, barely even giving the priest a second look. 'Not all priests are agents of the Council,' he said, as we continued to walk, and I glanced furtively back over my shoulder. 'Most of them genuinely believe that what they have dedicated their liv

He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Oh, Donncha, this is no time for your jokes," Roisin said with a giggle to lighten the mood. Hector tightened his grip on Skye's hand and whispered. "Don't pay attention," he told her, and Skye nodded. Finally, Hector addressed the priest, "You may begin." The priest lifted his hands and blessed the gathering. He was of average height and had lost his youthful appearance a long time ago. His hair was wavy and longer than what was typical for Highlanders.

Instead, he focused on the man who has a piece of paper in his hand, a mic in his right hand. A man with white hair stood on the pulpit, he wore the alb which is the long white vestment, held around his waist by a girdle and the two sides of the garment are held together by a morse as the priest's dressing code or robe. Grey looked serious as he stared at the priest's lips waiting for the words to fall out. I couldn’t understand what was going on, who was Alisa to him and why does he look typically cold...

Sarah, the Red Priestess stood up and came towards me. The High Priestess turned her anger on her, “You bitch, did you know this? Is that why you are here? I knew there had to be some good reason why someone like you would insist on being at this ceremony?” She pointed her finger right at Sarah and she didn’t wince.

What I got was Father Elijah stepping up to the pulpit, and every thought of my ex evaporating from my brain like it never existed. He's young for a priest — early thirties, maybe thirty-two. Dark hair that's a little too long for the clergy, pushed back from a face that belongs in a romance movie, not behind an altar. Sharp jaw, full mouth, grey-green eyes that make your panties soak when they stare at you. His hands grip the pulpit when he preaches — strong hands, veined forearms disappearing into rolled-up sleeves — and his voice is this low, warm gravel that vibrates and settles somewhere in my lower stomach.

The aging priest stands under the arch looking over the gathering crowd. He’s wearing the traditional robes: a black smock embroidered with golden concentric circles around a howling wolf. Around his neck, he wears a white stole with the phases of the moon depicted on it in dark blue. Being a priest is somewhat of a pointless job in werewolf society – we rarely pray and we almost never visit the temple, but every priest I’ve ever met has a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of werewolf history, rituals, and laws.

The priest, Marco demanded, his voice thundering aloud. Xavier didn’t fear. He was a priest ordained three years ago, and he was sworn to the crown. He swore to live and die, protecting the true heirs of the kingdom. The shamans governed the High tower, so if a priest was here; it was because he would not accept the new king and was now in hiding. Xavier knows loyalty sways, but not when loyalty was all a priest lived for. “Your holiness. It is I, Xavier Ainsworth.” He announced himself and the priest’s eyes came to rest on him.