15 - When Desires Are Confessed

Although Ysabelle was worried sick about Father Marcus' welfare, she was still able to doze off the moment she hit her bed. Fatigue and exhaustion is always the drawback of having to chaperone her niece and take pictures of the class tour all day long, and sleeping is always the best cure of it, especially when it is uninterrupted the whole night. Ysabelle was hoping to experience that, but her uninvited visitor had other plans.

The bedroom door opened and closed without making a sound. No footsteps were heard too as the room's carpet muffled it. But Marcus was present and was inching his way closer to the sleeping woman.

Her face and chest was gently illuminated by the moon's light passing through the half open window. A bed sheet covered her warmly, but under it she was wearing a loose-fitting, cropped tank top and a flimsy sleep short — the most comfortable sleeping garments she had ever worn. Gone were the thick, uncomfortable skirts, the itchy wool fabrics, the rough cotton and the impractical animal cloth she had used over the thousands of years she had lived. If there was one thing that she was happy about during the world's changes, it was the fashion sense of its people. A change that she had welcomed almost without question.

Gorgeous was the fall of her hair on the pillow. The plumpness of her lips, the rosy blush of her cheeks and the thick drape of her eyelashes added to the breathtaking sight. Marcus —or the entity controlling his body —produced a pleased grin.

H removed an obstructing pillow and seated slowly at the edge of the mattress, in Ysabelle's right side so that he could see well how her cleavage was exposed nicely. A little more lower than what it was, her pink nipples would have been exposed.

Staring at her sleeping form, H acknowledged that she was a beautiful sight to behold. No wonder the brotherhood had appointed notable families to protect her, to keep her untouched since they found out she was an immortal. No wonder André Rogratiatto fell in love with her and volunteered himself to be the sacrifice. No wonder Marcus was the same, but H had felt another different kind of connection between the two the moment he infused himself inside the priest's body. Some kind of connection bordering more than any human emotion itself. This — he did not understand what.

"Ah, but all of their hard work will be for nothing," he crooned, taking a satisfied sweep of his eyes on the now-exposed woman when he disintegrated the bed cover with a flip of his hand. "Your most guarded virtue is mine woman, and I am going to enjoy taking it. Marcus is going to learn what it feels like to fuck a woman."

With his attention on her cleavage, he raised his hand again and hovered it above, intending to cup one generous mountain. This he did while licking his lips, actually looking forward to sucking on the taut peaks. But leaving only an inch left before contact, H paused and clenched his teeth.

"Fuck, this is so easy," he grumbled and stood up, disappointed. He eyed an available chair across the bed near the armoire and this was where he decided to sit, crossing his legs and resting both his elbows on the armrests. He licked his lips again and brushed his thumb below Marcus' own damnable lips . "Let's make this complicatedly fun shall we?" he said, grinning. And then, a violet mist surrounded Ysabelle in her bed.

*

*

It didn't feel like Ysabelle was in a dream when she found herself in a cave. She could feel the coldness of the ankle-deep water in her feet and the soft texture of the sand beneath them. She could feel the wet garments she was wearing and how it clung perfectly in her curves. She could distinguish the scent of the place too — an earthly scent similar to lemon and eucalyptus mixed with the salty air.

The cave was a massive earth formation that stretched fifteen storeys high. Rocks of black and violet walled the inside, while a shallow to deep water in blue shades centered the area. It was magnificent in its entirety, but there was nothing that could compare the scenic picture just a short distance away from her.

It made Ysabelle's eyes wide, caught by its beauty.

Though it was a gloomy place, the beam of the moon — if it was the right source of light — left it mystical and captivating. The yellow light rays were fixed in one area alone as if it was spotlighting gemstones instead of grouped smooth-surfaced rocks. There was a waterfall of roots, beginning from the cave ceiling hole down to the sandy body of water. The place itself offered a sweet chance of rest and this was exactly where a man was resting, sitting in one of the medium rocks with his feet on the shallow water and his right arm pillowing his head. He was naked from the waist up, wearing a wet black trouser that was clinging onto his limbs. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and his expression peaceful — or so it seemed.

Ysabelle's breath hitched. With one look alone, she immediately realized who the man was.

Marcus.

He was Father Marcus and God, this man looked like he was venerated by the cave.

If only she had her camera in her hand, she would have taken continuous pictures of him, but she didn't, so she committed the sight to memory, tucking it in the safest place of her thoughts so that she alone can enjoy it.

Ysabelle neared him without so much as a thought, mesmerized by the way he shined under the light.

"Marcus..." she whispered quietly when she was but a feet away from him.

Though it was not her intention, she lifted up a hand, unable to resist the temptation of sweeping a single rogue lock from his forehead. But then, she yelped, suddenly caught up by the wrist with Marcus' strong grip.

Their eyes met, each one with a degree of surprise and bewilderment.

"Ysa-belle?" Marcus whispered her name like she was some damn ghost miracle.

She tried to pull her hand away, but failed miserably.

"Marcus! I mean—ah, Father Marcu—"

"Why are you here? How did you get here?" he asked, not waiting for her to finish. He pulled her closer, not having to use too much force for she easily swayed under his hold.

Ysabelle's free hand, in response, shot up in between them. She was nearly out of balance and if Marcus would have pulled her more, she would have stumbled directly into his hard chest.

"Father Marcus, please let me go," she requested, looking down and avoiding his gaze. Funny, she doesn't seem to feel the lightheaded sensation even though he was touching her. Her cheeks blushed and she felt her face hot.

"Are you real? Are you really here with me?" For Marcus to ask that was expected, but he shook his head immediately, rectifying his mistake. His expression changed from being surprised to that of pain and distaste. "Huh, what am I talking about. Of course, you aren't. You are just an illusion," he complained more to himself.

Ysabelle's brow flinched. She was supposed to be disappointed with his words, but she instead gathered up her wits and pulled herself away from his loosening grip and placed her arms akimbo.

"Just exactly where is here?" she cried, eyes with determination.

But her stance wasn't precisely a peaceful sight. What Marcus could see under the light was the dark shadow poking through her wet top and the strained lift of her breasts. It immediately spun his restrained desire out of control. Groaning and furrowing his brows, Marcus, in reflex, averted gazing at her sexy form, but not before ogling a good amount of seconds on the attractive peaks. Shit! Even for an illusion, she still cooked up a storm in his mind and heart. Now, he is in turmoil. Now, he has tipped over the edge.

Ysabelle saw the quick change and realized too late that she had just made an inviting exposure of herself. In a split of a second, she covered herself with her arms as if to shield what was already a clear display. Blushing in embarrassed shades, she bit her lower lip and routed her eyes on the water.

"I'm sorry. I have..." she choked. "I have no idea where this is and how I got here. I remember I was sleeping in—"

"Ysabelle..." Marcus interrupted midsentence, his voice deep and sultry. She looked up and saw him already staring at her with smoldering eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat. This side of him is different — totally different.

"If you could—cheat," he started cautiously, watching her anxious face. "At anything... anything at all, what would it be?"

He leaned forward, flexing every muscle in his abdomen. Looking up at her profile, he was downright genuine with waiting for an answer.

"Cheat..?" Ysabelle's voice trembled. "What are you...trying to say?"

Marcus hauled a deep breath and closed his eyes. To him be damned, there was no going back now.

"In this place, I am a prisoner Ysabelle. I am nothing, but just an ordinary man. I have no vows to chain me. No words to chastise me. I am just...me. A man who...desires you."

Ysabelle turned anemic. He did not just say that!

"Fath—er Mar—cus," she breathed out, her legs turning to mush and her skin crawling with electric sensations.

Desire. Desire...

Her heart inflamed after hearing that single word.

Oh, what a foreign thing. She had never felt that towards anything or anyone at all, or maybe, except...

"Swim back in this cold water Father, maybe your senses might clear up," she said it so in a sarcastic way, but couldn't bring herself to filter the shakiness of her voice. That word hit her in ways more than she had thought of. It hit her real good because hate it and deny it as she may, there was this gnawing feeling that she feels the same way towards him.

"Oh, Ysabelle if only it is that easy," Marcus sighed, standing up and meeting her in the eyes. "Do you know what my answer to that question is?"

She stepped backward. "Wha...t?"

Marcus' face was serene when he contemplated for a second. "If I could cheat..." he closed the gap between them and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing her against the wall of his chest. She gasped, looking at him with her eyes like saucers. "If I could cheat, then it would be..." he clasped a mass of her hair and stilled her head, "it would be to kiss you again, Ysabelle."

Ysabelle's heart flatlined for a moment. "Fathe—" And she would have expressed her concern... would have admonished his risky words...if not —if not —for his warm mouth covering up her own.

Marcus cupped her chin and lifted her face to gain more access on the cherry. She moaned a weak protest when he slid an eager tongue inside her mouth and with that, it was the same all over again. The one same experience she had in the grand stairs foyer. The same one that almost made her breathless and blue— literally.

As if it was a natural reflex, she moved her fingers through the outline of his jaw and the pulsing neck, and though she was hesitant about it, answered his fervor with the same sensual movement of her lips, eliciting a throaty groan from Marcus.

Tasting each other, it made them both delirious and intoxicated, but God, she had to stop this, now.

When she was able to free herself a millimeter away, a little bit of sense came over her.

"Father Marcus, sto—"

"Marcus, call me Marcus, Ysabelle."

His head shifted to skate his hot tongue through the plane of her ivory neck. Closing her eyes, Ysabelle moaned softly and angled her head to the side.

"Mar-cus..." she cried, charging his name with a power as any nuclear weapon have.

"If I could cheat..." he then continued hoarsely, "it would be...to hold you like this." His arm tightened around her, squeezed the soft flesh of her waist with his left hand, and his right cupped one swelling breast.

"Hmnnn..." Ysabelle felt an unfamiliar aching down her abdomen. It was begging to be sated. Oh, what lovely sensations... She didn't have enough will to stop it anymore.

"If I could cheat my beautiful Ysabelle...it would be to embrace you like this."

Ysabelle's breath hitched when Marcus lifted her from the ground, sat on his earlier smooth-surfaced rock, and arranged her in a way that she was straddling him.

"No..." she forced the word out, whilst feeling the foreign tight band of male muscle poking her sensitive sex.

She tried to wriggle, but that only did it for her. The little movement seemed to create a welcoming nudge on her upper center, igniting a heat that she had never felt before. Marcus seemed to feel it too for his breath exhilarated.

Restraining her wasn't needed anymore so his hand wandered on a different location; a location he had not been acquainted that much yet — her pink nubs shyly hiding behind the wet top. "If I could cheat... oh, if I could," his thumb and forefinger traced them delicately, earning a little whimper from her, "it would be to hear you moan my name."

Marcus claimed her mouth once again and just before everything would accelerate, Ysabelle pleaded the second time, "Marcus, please don't..."

"You gotta have to be more sterner than that Ysabelle." He placed quick nips on her neck all the while lifting the deficient piece of cloth above her chest. "You have to say it out loud if you want me to stop."

But how could she when her mind was in chaos, torn between terminating this wonderful moment or giving in.

Once her breasts were in clear view, Marcus headed straight on his target. Ysabelle cried out in ecstasy when she felt his searing lips and wet tongue engulfing a taut nipple.

"Ahh!" With half-lidded eyes, she raced to toss her head back and looked at the ceiling hole. Weird now, there seemed to be a silhouette of a person standing at the edge with red glowing eyes.

"Marcus!" she cried out just as the silhouette disappeared and just as she felt Marcus' fingers slipped inside her flimsy short.

*

*

Ysabelle opened her eyes, hyperventilating as she straightened to sit in her bed. It was already morning, the sun was just peeking over her window. Her pupils strained for a moment as she took in the light before her. It was a full minute before she was able to adapt, and when she did, she found her room the same as usual, except for a vacant chair in front of her bed that was supposed to be in its original sedentary position - near the armoire, against the wall.

Odd. She couldn't remember placing the said furniture in that particular place.

"Oh, God, what was that dream?" she cried, putting the odd occurrence aside. She cuddled a pillow and reminisced all of the memory she could drag out of her subconscious. They were broken ones though, memories that showed a mystifying cave, a half-naked Marcus, her yielding in, and their tryst...

Her throat felt tight. Damn, those memories felt so real.

After shaking her head and letting out a long breath, she stood up and eyed the bathroom door. If she was planning to live through this day without being caught up daydreaming about the priest's hot kisses, then she might as well take a bath... and fast.

*

*

*

Mehak's class was already in the assembly area of the main foyer when Ysabelle arrived wearing a blue beret wool hat, jeans and white long-sleeved off-shoulder blouse. Just the same, she had her camera in hand with its thick yellow lanyard around her neck. She smiled when two teachers waved a hand on her way, and even smiled brighter when Mehak stood up and gestured for her to come near.

She was already halfway though when she noticed the man sitting in a solo sofa where Mehak was standing. Father Marcus was looking as bright as usual, wearing the same-colored cassock she had been accustomed to him wearing. It seemed that they had been in the middle of a conversation though for both he and Mehak were all smiles.

'Cool. Cool. Act like normal,' she chanted on her way to her niece, but memories of last night's dream kept flashing on her front.

Marcus' soft lips...

His tongue circling her nipple...

The moans that escaped from her mouth...

The feel of his large hands cupping her breasts...

And his deft fingers slowly sliding in her...

"Auntie Belle! You know you are almost late right?" Mehak announced, crossing her arms in her chest.

Ysabelle blinked herself free. "Ah, hey Sweetie, good morning."

She bent to kiss the girl's cheek acting as much cool and composed as she could, but her eyes roamed unintentionally after she withdrew and straightened.

"Uhmm, Fa-Father Marcus, good morning."

Marcus nodded once. "Lovely Ysabelle, good morning too," he greeted, and if Ysabelle wasn't too preoccupied with shoving the lewd thoughts away, she would have seen the fleeting grin he accomplished for her.

A fold of paper suddenly appeared in front of Ysabelle's face that she had to blink thrice and step back.

"Auntie, here! This is today's schedule of activities," Mehak informed and handed the paper to her. She seemed to be oblivious of her Auntie's trial.

Ysabelle took it in haste. "Thanks," she told her.

"Mrs. Drew, my class adviser, would like to speak to you later. She says it is about the class picture for tomorrow."

"Uh, right, I will approach her before lunch," Ysabelle replied.

Mehak glanced at Marcus and then to her aunt and said, "I should go now, Auntie. I need to set up things with my vice president." Then she turned to Marcus again and smiled. "It was great talking with you Father, I learned a lot about this castle's history."

"It is my pleasure, Mehak. Anytime," H chimed in, acting like the twin of Marcus.

Ysabelle raised a brow. Now, when had this priest become an expert on the Dobříš Castle?

"How was your night?" Marcus then asked, looking at her with depth. They were alone now in the waiting lounge with only a few students standing around them, chatting and laughing, and minding their own business.

'Do you really have to ask that?!' her mind chimed in.

"Fine, just—fine," Ysabelle croaked. She had to dismiss a sexy thought again that had slipped when she glanced at Marcus.

"Good," was his reply, observing with pleasure her obvious anxiety.

'A dream. That was it. Just a dream! Why am I affected with it this much?!' her mind blurted out, struggling to avoid breaking down.

"Uh, Father? How was the exorcism last night?" she managed to ask after trying to find a way to change the subject. "Were you able to exorcise the demon out of Mr. MacMillan's body?"

Marcus' smoky brown eyes changed from a tentative gold and blue-violet when Ysabelle wasn't looking.

"Yes, I did," he answered after drawing a picture of the lifeless body of the caretaker in his thoughts, "and the experience was...invigorating."

Somehow a chill crept up Ysabelle's back. She gripped her camera tighter and readied herself to further her questioning, but she was interrupted when Mr. Grann appeared behind her.

"Father Marcus," he called, half relieved and half saddened.

H knew exactly why.

"Mr. Grann," he acted as if he didn't know.

"Good morning Father," the assistant caretaker started, "I need to talk to you Father. There is a...bad news."

"Oh?" Marcus cocked a brow. "What is it?"

"It is Mr. MacMillan, Father. He...he didn't make it." There was a sudden lump in his throat that he immediately cleared it up. "There was too much blood lost and when we arrived in the hospital, he was already pronounced dead."

Ysabelle's heart broke and she gasped, releasing her camera and pressing both of her hands in her mouth. "Oh, God," came her muffled voice. She looked at Marcus who appeared to take the bad news quite easily. She didn't miss out a sad tilt of his head though, but it was just tentative.

"I see," he spoke, eyeing the man with sadness — or acting like it in a believable way. "That is unfortunate to hear. Hemorrhage is always a problem when it comes to demon possessions like this."

"It is truly unfortunate Father, but set aside these events, I would like to extend my gratitude to you, for your service and for trying your best. Right now, what had happened to Mr. MacMillan somehow opened up the point-of-view of the staff here in the castle. I believe it has strengthened their faith better than before."

"But, Mr. Grann, what about Mr. MacMillan's family?" Ysabelle butted in. As an immortal, she knew exactly what death means for a person and that is that someone, somewhere there is going to a family that would miss him and grieve for him. It was an undeniable truth. A truth she had tested and underwent for thousands of years. Hearing this news freshened the wounds and pain in her heart. It made her feel the taunting loneliness promised to her every day of her life.

The heavens knew how much she had bonded and cared for the many families that the brotherhood had appointed to her. Each family, each member were close to her heart. Though some were not so kind and accepting like Madame Regina and Master Alfon Rogratiatto, they were still thought of as her precious family. And like all others before them, she will grieve their loss once they die and she will be left alone in this world, again to adjust for a new family to live and make memories with.

"Oh, Ms. Ysabelle, Mr. MacMillan doesn't have a family. His wife died without leaving him sons or daughters to be with," Mr. Grann replied with all honesty, clutching his hat and pressing it in his chest.

No one said anything for a long minute. It was Marcus, who somehow seemed distressed looking at Ysabelle's saddened eyes, managed to break the silence.

"Please, leave us for a moment, Mr. Grann. I believe someone needs the sacrament of confession."

"Oh, of course, Father," the caretaker said aware of Ysabelle's mournful state, "please make your stay comfortable still. The castle will shoulder all of the expenses, don't you worry."

Marcus nodded and when the man left, he turned to Ysabelle who was already on the verge of crying.

H shared the same body with Marcus - the whole package so to say - and it unfortunately includes his heart. Though his dark power would have shut off and suppressed all of the priests human emotions, he was surprised to find out that a part of Marcus still lingered on the surface. The reason why — he doesn't know once again.

His hands were itching to touch her. He — or the Marcus side — wanted to embrace her and console her. It was a strong pull and H despised it.

Ysabelle luckily was able to hold back her tears. She gasped a little when she saw Marcus' hands stopped midair and clench. She knew he was restraining himself for anymore physical contact with her. Though she would have wanted to be comforted, she was relieved that Marcus didn't continue. She wouldn't want to be lightheaded in this day because of his touch, especially that she had a whole class activity ahead for her to capture.

Stepping backward, she bent her head and apologized, "I'm sorry Father Marcus, I should go," and then went off with a heavy, heavy heart, avoiding eye contact with him.

This man... this man will also leave her. Marcus will also die sooner or later. And if she were to guard her heart with that and the pain that comes with his death, she will have to stop the growing feelings and desire she had on him. The question now is... how?

Oh, but she knew exactly how.

That's what her last wish is for, to become mortal and to die, so that she wouldn't experience the pain of being left alone again.