Word Of Honor Novel By Priest Novels & Stories

They never expected such a grand event to be dedicated to them, especially right after the town has risen back from the ground. Of course, Marika teared up, while the other two barely curled their lips. The old hunchback Alessia allowed to fight didn't make it, but he was known to be one of the brave butchers that stayed behind to defend the village. Looks like his sacrifices will be remembered, after all, she thought.

He closed his fingers around hers and pulled her closer, far closer than protocol required, until she could feel the solid weight of him at her side. The priest began to speak. His voice droned on, low and even, rising and falling with practiced cadence. The words washed over Mary without meaning. Honor. Obey. Cherish. They sounded hollow, stripped of truth by the context in which they were spoken. Each word felt like a lie uttered beneath a vaulted ceiling that had heard far too many like it. “Do you, Arthur Sterling, take this woman—” “I do.” Arthur didn’t hesitate. His voice was loud, booming, filling the cathedral and bouncing off the stone walls. There was triumph in it. Certainty. Appl

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.

He remembered his name vividly stepping forward a little but Clancy shouted at him instead furiously. "Don't get involved beast!" He shouted at Scott before looking back at the bishop "You never said anything about an Unholy Book, what is it? Made up by you?" He asked. The bishop finally getting choked to the point of blacking out flared out releasing a miniature wave of positive energy that at first was unnoticed by everyone except Clancy who was blasted few feets back like a ski. He stood back on his feet panting like a dog "No one made the Unholy Book up, it was written by the ancient one!" He responded to Clancy.

“How did you get back?” “The bus,” I lie smoothly. “And a very long walk.” This, for some reason, pleases the old priest. He smiles and nods. “You are very devoted. We can all learn from you.” He’s not wrong. I’ve always been very devoted to my parishioners, and if this whole made up scenario were real, I would have done things exactly as I described them to Abraham. I don’t acknowledge the Father’s praise. “May I go?” I ask as respectfully as I can.

“I haven't prayed in a long time so this is really weird and awkward. I know you know everything that has happened, this is all Keenan's idea, but I want you to know that I was wrong for everything and for every move I've made. I forgot that vengeance wasn't mine to take and I'm sorry for everything I did to hurt the people around me that love and care about me the most. But don't take Rory, he doesn't have to die because of my stubbornness. I know whatever Mycole sees always come to pass, but please, don't let this happen. Don't punish him for my mistakes, punish me instead. He is innocent and I don't want him to die, I love him so much and I won't be able to live without him—” I hear doors

The only thing that seemed correct was how the drunken priest had his chin tucked close to his chest, bowed in prayer with his eyes closed. Zen didn’t have a religion in both of his lives. He wondered if the other mafiosi had religions. Personally, God was less terrifying than man. He’d met God in the form of Celine, who kicked him back to a different side of reality. It wasn’t God’s fault that the world turned out so fucked up. Mankind had such an ego that the word Godfather was now seen as above God’s existence. Godfather Veron was an example of mankind’s ego, creating an academy to select the new candidate to rule the world next. Zen would have died without a second chance if not for the

“Sold her to her uncle and took off.” Honor had heard every version of this story. She was illegitimate, she was abandoned, she was unwanted, nobody had ever wanted her, her mother was this, her father was that. She’d built up significant immunity. She found the dropped book, straightened carefully, and prepared to leave. “I heard,” Aaron said, louder now, warming to it, playing to the small crowd that had materialized the way crowds always do around cruelty, “that she’s sleeping with her drunk uncle. They’ve got that whole thing going on up there in the woods. My dad says—”

“And because of what she is. She is the rightful heir to the fortune hidden with Lucian’s body, land, gold, and documents that could destroy the Church’s foundations. Her father discovered the truth before he was killed.” I see the conflict tearing at him. The priest, the man, the son, the lover. All of them fighting inside of his exhausted body. “Choose carefully, Father Brick,” I say as I unbar the door. “The monastery doesn’t allow neutral ground. You are either the predator or the prey here.” He leaves without another word. I watch him descend the stairs, shoulders rigid against the rain. When he is gone, I sit back down and open another ledger—the one that contains my own confessions, w

“I gave him my word, King. As a Celestial, that is the only honor I have. I owed him the grace of telling him in person, from my lips. To do less would dishonor my father’s house…and perhaps yours. And that I would never do.” My words could be lines from the Celestial handbook, if there ever were to be such a thing printed. They’re the ideas that have been pounded into my mind about myself since I was a child: that I am a Celestial, that the only thing I have is my honor, that I must never say a word or perform a deed that dishonors me, or my Alpha, or my King. It’s all horseshit, of course, and it makes my stomach turn.