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   Chapter 9 A Kiss That Endangers

Resurrect Thy Heart By JMFelic Characters: 19422

Updated: 2018-09-05 21:47


That's what Marcus first thought of when his eager lips met Ysabelle's. He had almost convinced himself that he was already devouring the lunch table's dessert as she tasted of sweet honeyed strawberries and the curve of her lips were moist and velvety like a chocolate cake. With all the willpower he could muster up, he didn't use it to stop this moment. Instead, when he found her unsteady, trying to push him lightly away with both of her hands, he snaked a hand in the small of her back and pressed her closer to his body. His back was against the balustrade to stabilize them at least for any possible imbalance. A fall down to the base of the stairs would be unlucky indeed, not to mention painful.

There was still some tiny pang of guilt a priest like him was expected to feel when treading on restricted boundaries, but true enough, it didn't rack his mind. His logical reasoning was already clouded in the first place. His sole focus was on her, a woman in his arms, and how she tasted in his mouth. He could well be killed by lightning anytime if the Heaven's above didn't approve of this, but what the heck, he was ready to die anyway... for her.

For her?

Yes, for her.

And him be damned, he doesn't even know the reason why.


Ysabelle's brain nearly shut down. Of all the things that should happen, this happened. She had thought of it as an illusion when she saw Father Marcus looking at her with an expression similar to a man looking at his lover. It must be because of the way the morning sunlight glittered the stained glasses of the wall. It must be because of the romantic feel of the grand staircase they were currently managing. Whatever the reason was, she could no longer believe it as an illusion, especially when she felt the warmth of his lips and the thundering heartbeat of his chest against hers.

It was so fast, so sudden. No warning signals or even any clue to inform her what would come next. But she did have an inkling at the back of her mind. A damn clear one. She knew this man's mouth was about to taste her, and she let him... easily... welcomed him even. No struggling, other than the light push on his chest.

In her lifetime, numerous walls - both metaphorically and figuratively - had been built to keep her safe and secure. Against to what and to whom, she doesn't know. She was untouched, untainted, the purest of the pure. Until enter one priest - an exorcist priest - in the picture and all of these walls were breached. Ysabelle stood unguarded with it the whole time and yes, this all started since the time she took a picture of him in the plaza square, since his kindness warmed her heart...


Gaining entrance inside Ysabelle's mouth wasn't difficult, it was effortless and this surprised Marcus greatly. She was ever so pliant. His tongue traced the outline of her lips for a moment and then made a swift thrust inside the supple cavern. This elicited a light gasp from her. She grabbed the collar of his black cassock and made a wrinkle out of it in no time.

It was expected that she'd be tensed, her tongue stiff in place when Marcus felt it. However, he cared less of her inadequate response. He continued his own plundering anyway by flicking his tongue and sampling all he could get from her.

But wait.

Why was he French-kissing this woman in the first place? He was inexperienced himself yet he knows how to do this deed... damn well in fact like a Casanova lover. Did the basic instinctual drive of a man kicked in him? Or was the heat of the moment a good educator?

And then, a possible answer to his question came quickly... unexpectedly.

'Take her...'

A man's unnatural echoing voice appeared in his head, but it wasn't just a man's voice... it was his own. This brought Marcus to snap out of the wonderful moment and pull himself away from the now-puzzled and flustered Ysabelle. He accomplished a safer distance away from her in long strides, ending up at the middle of the grand stairs.

"Oh, no..." Marcus spoke with a pained expression, looking at almost all of the spaces of the foyer except for the woman above him. "I'm sorry that had happened Ms. Ysabelle. It was a catastrophic oversight on my part."

He waited for her to answer, but there was silence, so he spoke again.

"I...take it you would like to slap me."

Venturing to steal a brief look, what he saw in her was typical for a woman kissed in the most abrupt way possible. Her face was devoid of anything except puzzlement. Mouth slightly open and even though she wasn't putting any lipstick, her lips looked red... or swollen - as probably the better word. She had her right hand pressed the center of her chest, the other dangling in the side with fingers trembling.

God, how he was in such a mess right now. She must be completely shaken.

"I would have, " Ysabelle then broke the silence, voice shaky but with a rough volume, "if you didn't scurry all the way there! I would have!"

And with just that, Marcus realized how deeply-seated her anger was directed at him.

"I will take full responsibility of it, Ms. Ysabelle, " he then answered, walking back up the stairs to reach her and level their faces. The whole time he did so, his head was held high, his shoulders straight and his eyes boreal. He didn't seem affected by the fact that Ysabelle was now scowling at him. Scowling but with the subtle hint of apprehension when her eyes diverted to the floor briefly when he arrived a stair away from her.

"Slap me... please. Twice in my cheeks would be good, " Marcus stated with utmost sincerity. "I deserve it. As a priest, it is already condemnable to touch a woman, much less kiss her. I did both."

"Then, why did you kiss me?" was Ysabelle's ques

dozed off, forgetting all of them all at once... or at least for the time being.




Marcus was in the gloomy dream again. The same different shades of black was ever noticeable in his line of sight when he decided to wander around the place. The coastline of black sand dunes seemed to feel a lot colder against his bare feet than it was in his last visit. Very cold. But--

'Everything is cold here anyway, ' was what he thought when he reached a rocky clearing. It wasn't odd. Not at all.

However, something was out of place.

His shadow.

He found it absent now.

Was it a good or a bad sign? He didn't know the answer, but a sudden echoing sound of laughter did strike a warning signal in him.

Marcus turned in circles in haste, wanting to find the source of the sound. His eyes immediately found it, from a man particularly, sitting in a big gray boulder with his elbows resting in his knees.

'...slick blackness like a panthers...' he immediately recalled André's comment as soon as he noticed the waist-long hair of the man.

Their gazes connected and that did it for Marcus.

He writhe in pain as the black ink in his right arm reacted, releasing a gnawing, bone-sawing pain. Then, blue and violet flames stretched as high as his height danced wildly around him.

'It will be soon...' was the man's vague statement Marcus could hear after he fell on the ground and lost consciousness.




Father Marcus woke up with heavy sweat in his forehead and temples. He quickly turned to look at the time in his right-side wall clock and found that it was thirty minutes past six. So it seems he actually slept the whole afternoon away without being productive of his investigation.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he stood up and pulled the soaked white V-necked undershirt out of him. Dropping it on a nearby basket, he crossed the bed and entered the bathroom, intending to wash his face and wash away all of the distressed feelings he had while he was in the artificial world.

Yup. Another insane dream huh?

Another dream to tally in as a sign of his now-precarious situation. Another dream to prove to himself that he was now the host of the demon, and that demon had finally showed itself. It was exactly as what André had detailed: heterochromatic eyes and a long black hair.

Dammit! He cursed for the first time after taking a cool splash of water into his face. He turned off the faucet and leaned back against the granite bathroom sink with his arms folded in his chest. Beads of water from the edges of his hair dripped down his face, but he was not bothered by it.

Studying his recent exorcism rite thoroughly, there wasn't anything that he could deem out a hole for the demon to cross through. How was the demon alive when in fact, he had exorcised it properly? It being a high-class demon would be a good answer, but surely there are other reasons why.

He examined the black ink of his right arm, raising it up higher in front of him and found that it had a mixed different shade this time: blue and violet particularly. This was a clear cut evidence that the demon inside him was taking action now.

'It will be soon...' that's what Marcus remembered before he lost consciousness. What did the demon mean by it? Marcus hoped to know the answer. It wasn't a matter of investigation or filing a Vatican report anymore. It was a matter of his life and if he was planning on exorcising the demon again himself, he must know the origin of it first. With that in mind, he quickly changed his priest slacks into faded jeans and partnered it with a white polo shirt for his last dinner tonight with the Rogratiatto Family. He was going to force the truth out of the family this night in one way or another, and he was going to start with Ysabelle, if André was still unattainable.

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