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   Chapter 18 Ingrained in Her Heart

Resurrect Thy Heart By JMFelic Characters: 20036

Updated: 2018-09-05 22:26

Dawn came the next day. Ysabelle woke up with a tired feeling. She cleared her eyes, rubbing it gently and then sat up. She was in a moment of disorientation then.

Where are the candle lamps? The transparent drapes? Where are the rose petals in the floor?

Scanning the room thoroughly, she finally realized she was now back in her bedroom... in reality.

Somehow, the truth pricked her heart. If given a chance, she would have never wanted to wake up again. She would have wanted to stay in that dream world, where the warmth is... where Marcus is...

But, a dream is always a dream, and every dream has an ending -- waking up now in her bedroom is her own end.

It left a hole in her heart.

'What a night, ' she said to herself, and then released a long, deep sigh, curling herself and putting her forehead against her knees. 'What a dream.'

She reminisced the scenes of the dream she had with Father Marcus.

Everything... down to the last when she slept near his chest.

'Oh, God. I would give anything to feel his warmth again, ' she thought, then tears briefly spilled from her eyes.

"No, please stop!" Ysabelle shouted to herself and rubbed the salty liquid away with the bed linen. "I must stop this nonsense infatuation about a dream."

She pulled herself up and stood at the edge of the bed, confidence radiating gradually.

Her eyes unintentionally fell on a chair at the foot of the bed. It was the same as yesterday morning, in its exact weird position. With that basis, she now believed that someone really was inside her room last night.

Chills crept down her spine just thinking about it, but knowing that she hadn't had enough proof, there was no way she could report it to the castle security office.

Praying herself to be strong, she shrugged the problem away for the time being and strolled inside her bathroom.

The exhaustion she was feeling she had deemed it because of the activity she had with the students yesterday in the garden. She never connected it with anything else. However, when she entered her bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, that's when her eyes widened and she froze.

The reflection showed red small blots around her neck and chest, similar to an ant bite but a lot bigger in circumference. In its entirety, it actually looked like...

"Kiss marks..." Ysabelle's mouth dropped, a feeling of heat climbed quickly up her spine.

'Oh, God!'

Returning to the memories of her dream last night, Marcus did gave her some in the same spots.

"No..." she murmured in disbelief covering her mouth, ""

Feeling uneasy and breathless, she paced along the sink fanning herself with her palm and stopped, and paced again and stopped. Every pause she leaned forward towards the mirror to see if the kiss marks were in fact real.

And goodness, they were very real.

Her mind reeled with a lot of questions.

If last night wasn't a dream at all, then how? How were they both in that kind of place? How was it they both thought the whole time that it was just a dream? Moreover, Marcus and her...

"Oh, God... Oh, God!"

Ysabelle paced again, shaking her head thoroughly.

They made love! God, they did! And this exactly explains her feeling of exhaustion!

Is this just her imagination or is this really real?

Her hands trembled. Stalking out of the bathroom, she sat down at the foot of the bed and embraced herself.

'No...' she uttered, trying to resist believing the evidences.

Eyeing the main door, there was only one way to find out if she wasn't hallucinating. She wanted answers badly, and Father Marcus was the only one who can give it. So, although she felt the hesitation at first, she finally decided to pay him a visit.




'Room 212'

It read when Ysabelle stood up in front of Marcus' door an hour after her breakdown. She was fresh from a bath, having her hair damp, and wore clean clothes mainly a sundress, a wool jacket and a red scarf to cover her neck.

She waited after a round of knocks but somehow, Father Marcus didn't answer it.

"Fa-father Marcus?" she called out nervously, but after another full minute, the door didn't open. Ysabelle thought that maybe a change of tac would be better, so even if she was uncomfortable with wording it, her mouth effortlessly flowed the name out.

"Marcus... please... open the door. I need to talk to you."

But unfortunately, still, he didn't answer. That's when she realized that he may have left the room already.


Ourech, Czech Republic

West District

House of Doubrava



A thick door opened and in stepped an old, bald man with his cane supporting his weight. He was wearing a formal wear, complete with a striped necktie and coat. He strolled inside, looking at his visitor who was sitting in the leather sofa with his back to him.

"This is an unexpected surprise. You, a Vatican priest, in my house. What brings you here Father?" the bald man stated with distaste, holding his cane in front of him whilst standing in a solo sofa opposite the man who lifted up his face.

They were in a study room, dominated with an air of male authority. The walls and shelves were painted dark brown, the sofas inheriting the same shade. There was a fireplace in the center and it provided a balancing warmth of the coldness of the room.

"The name's 'H', Earl Doubrava, " Marcus stated, smirking at the old man with clever emphasis, "it has been...awhile, yes?"

The eyes of the Earl enlarged, then his scowl that was evident awhile ago vanished. Sweat gathered quickly on his nape and the way he held the head of the cane tightened.

"Pri—nce...Ha—ie—n?!" he stuttered. "You... you?"

"Yes, I did, " H smirked some more and leaned forward putting his elbows on his knees. This made the Earl sit obediently like a puppy in front of i

yes, it is only natural, " she stated, hoping it was sarcastic enough to discourage him, "I give preferences to nobody." She lifted her chin as a sign of tenacity and held that pose until only a second passed.

"Oh, but you do, " H immediately responded, taking in another step closer to her, " me." Affected she was and that made her determination shrink and wither. It was the truth. His word did hit the right spot. Although she hoped to hate it, she couldn't deny that there was an intense attraction collecting inside her towards Marcus. Now, it wasn't only attraction but love too, and that was the reason why she yielded herself to him in their so-called dream last night.

This time, they were both inches apart. Ysabelle could feel H's warm breath touching her forehead and now-flushed cheeks. She leaned forward against the table and gave him a frown - the only meager comeback she could make. "Don't misunderstand things, " was her stern reply. This version of Marcus was truly scaring her.

"Quit your lies, Ysabelle..." H spat the words right back at her. This caused her to press her lips thinly. Ha! What irony it was indeed to be slapped by her own words.

When he closed the short gap, Ysabelle poised to throw a hand in between them. A quick push of his chest away from her would do the trick, but never had she imagined that he would make a counter by hooking an arm around her waist and holding a mass of hair with his free hand.

"Step back!" she ordered a little more than alarmed. Touching a copper-molded picture frame with her other hand, she grabbed it immediately planning to bang his head just in case he would still advance.

But advance he did, leaning his face and trespassing her private space without so much as a show of fear on the object she was holding. H did not utter any words, only grinning at her with amusement.

"I swear! I'm going to hit this frame in your head so much that you would bleed if you dare kiss me!" she threatened, now shouting.

"Oh?" H paused, "You would do that now, would you? He wouldn't be pleased I'm pretty sure."

Toying with her emotions, he adjusted his red eyes and called for the original shade of smoky brown to replace it briefly.

And just as expected, Ysabelle was taken by the trap. She thought it as redemption for her.

"Marcus... Marcus!" she desperately cried as if she was talking to a third person other than the man holding her waist. "Please wake up! Please! Get a hold of yourself!"

With that H released a short wicked laugh, and then proceeded to cup her chin tightly. "But he is, Y-sa-be-lle..." he stated, slurring her name intentionally. "He is awake. Don't you know? I am him and he is me. He is still in control of his emotions. Only, I am just magnifying it so that it would bloom a thousand fold."

Whatever she heard, she considered it gibberish. She dared not believe any word that comes out of his mouth, especially when this man wasn't exactly Marcus.

"Unhand me. This is not what he wants!" she spat, trying to push him away, but failed.

"It is, " was H's limited answer.

And then, he kissed her. Mouth on mouth. Lips on lips.

Patience. Yes, patience...wasn't his thing. It was never his thing. So, without so much as a minute of waiting, his warm tongue slid, invading her delicate muscles. This instantly caused her to unintentionally moan. Moan in protest? Surely. Of pleasure? Maybe. Possibly. Because even though she denied it with all her heart, it was still Marcus' mouth that she tasted. Warm and soft. Burning and fueling a desire she hadn't felt ever since the sun greeted her. This brought out memories of last night, but she suppressed it quickly.

A short moment of bliss it was, in her part, but luckily sense of reason came. Ysabelle wriggled in an attempt to free herself but unfortunately, she brought out no success. No. Not even a millimeter of difference as H pushed her tightly against his chest, and they both floated down the bed.

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