The Red Priest Novels & Stories

"...But know this, you will be sorry for wanting to be like the hamlets of Redberg, Munster, and Winterberg. The pope will appoint a head chief over you. And he will take the best of your sons to be his soldiers against the creatures of the night and will compel them to war. He will take the best of your farms and vineyards. He will take an overwhelming tariff of everything you produce as a levy. You will complain to the pope, but it will be too late, and you will merit what you get when you get what you have demanded.” Another moment of irritated stillness from the priest washed over the populace. A wintry storm swept across the land with a bold sincerity, a rawness that gave rise to one's

“That priest and the girl you're supposed to get secrets from. The girl who is our only chance at taking ownership of Stefano's port from the Russians… her father has leads and tabs on us, you're supposed to find out where they are and fucking destroy them! Not FUCKING play the saint’s job!” My jaw tightens but I remain composed. “You were told,” he repeats, leaning forward slightly, “that if anyone saw you… I mean anyone… you erase the problem.” There's silence for a second, before I break it. “The priest is dead,” I say evenly. “And the witnesses?” I don't answer.

he whispered, and right then and there, a golden glow from his hand appeared and the woman felt a warm feeling before she lost consciousness. *** “Your Excellencies, ” the red-haired man knelt in front of four aging men sitting in an oblong table. They were in a dark room where only torches lit the colossal beams that surrounded them. One man, High Priest Eleazar, with a black long beard peered through his own hood and looked straight on the strikingly beautiful man kneeling some distance away from them. Gone was his hood, showing his red, silky hair shining against the torch fire. Everything about his face was symmetrical; beautifully sculpted nose, eyes that pop out like newly-grown palm l

Raul could not understand the situation. “Don’t be stupid.” The priest scoffed. “I know that you must have seen a lot of betrayals in your time but this guy here would never betray you. Take it from me coz I have tried to break him but he’s a hard one.” He paused and exhaled. “But he’s offered his body for today.” He chuckled. “Liar!” Hayley cursed. “Anyway, we don’t time to waste. I need to get going now.” The priest cut in.

Unfortunately for him, the Confradia has decided that it is time to end his existence. That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to show Mr. Treadwell the error of his ways before he meets his maker. I’m called Priest, which is ironic because I’m done with sick bastards like him when they all pray for a final absolution. I’d like to think that the old bible adage, an eye for an eye, is an adequate form of punishment. And that’s what Mr. Treadwell is receiving tonight.

I just can’t stand the thought that she let that asshole touch her. The day is a bit dark and dreary due to the rain. Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to get to Priest’s garage. Priest is a former Confradia Assassin who suffered an accident during a routine mission a few years ago. Unfortunately, he lost most of his eyesight, and due to his disability, he was forced to semi-retire. It wasn’t until a year ago the Confradia offered him the opportunity to regain his eyesight. The Confradia scientists came up with an experimental military procedure that would repair the damage in his eyes. Priest agreed, went under the knife, and the surgery was successful. According to Hunter, he now has cyb

The day of the evaluation arrived. A priest from the Church of the Eternal Flame was summoned—a tall, solemn man dressed in deep blue robes, carrying with him an ornate crystal staff. He introduced himself as Father Reinhart, a man of wisdom who had performed this ritual for countless noble families. Lucian sat stiffly in a high-backed chair as the priest stood before him, his piercing gaze measuring him. “Do not be afraid, young one,” the priest said gently. “This process will not hurt.” I’m not afraid, Lucian thought bitterly. I just don’t want to embarrass myself.

"Don’t be ungrateful, milady. Look upstairs." The unknown voice cut through the party's hum. Diana looked up immediately. There he stood, swirling his wine cup before raising it toward her in a mock toast. He was dressed entirely in crimson—a sharp, red suit that matched her own gown perfectly. A black mask obscured his face, mirroring her own. Bryan followed her gaze to the balcony, his jaw tightening as he took in the stranger. "Is he the 'well-wisher' you spoke about?"

“Are you still pretending?” “I'm not pretending, Ezreal. I am a priest,” I whispered, though the words felt thin, unconvincing. He laughed softly. “A priest who moans when I touch him. A priest who begged with his body at night, even as his lips prayed for deliverance.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Do you think God didn’t notice?” Heat crawled up my neck. I forced my gaze to the crucifix above, clinging to it like a drowning man. “You will not shake me. I was deceived. I didn't want it.”

“Let’s just say you got lucky. Your baby is safe, too. We finally met, Miss Katherine Dela Torre. Let me properly introduce myself. I am Jonathan Valencia.” I looked around and found the owner of that voice. It was coming back to me now. That was the last voice I heard before I passed out. He was wearing a black trench coat and was casually sitting in one corner while sipping coffee. He had long and straight jet-black hair and a pair of blue condescending eyes that seemed to have the power to read through me, through my heart, and soul. How could this man be a priest? He didn’t look like it. He looked like a man who was used to giving commands inside a very elegant place and not someone who