Page 57 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

The curtain sways gently between us, the faint scent of wildflowers filling the space, overwhelmed by the scent of my mate. This isn’t what I expected when I asked him for a confession. I thought it was all some elaborate setup to get us alone, an excuse to give in to the tension building between us since the day we met. But now…

Now, I’m about to tell him the truth. The real, raw truth.

I sit down, my knees brushing the edge of the curtain. “So, what—there’s no script for this or something?”

“There is,” he says, his deep voice softening. “But I doubt you’ve been baptized, so we’re already playing fast and loose with tradition. Typically, I’d start with ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’”

“Yeah, no,” I mutter. “Not saying that.”

He chuckles again, the sound low and rough. “I figured. But I’m not giving orders tonight, so say whatever you need to say. I’m listening.”

That word—orders—lingers in the air between us. I know what it means. I know what I’d be compelled to do if he commanded it. For a second, I wish he would. It would make this easier. Clearer. Hell, I’d rather he just tie me up and force it out of me than sit here in the dark, peeling myself open one layer at a time.

I take a deep breath, my voice barely above a whisper. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The silence on the other side of the curtain stretches, heavy and expectant.

“This is my first confession,” I continue, my words faltering. “And I’ve…killed. Not a lot, but enough that I’m sure I’ve earned my spot in hell. I used to think it was righteous, you know? That I was doing the right thing. But lately…” I trail off, my chest tightening. “Lately, I’m not so sure.”

“I’m listening,” Reyes says, his voice low and steady.

I exhale shakily. “I think I’ve been on the wrong side since the Convergence. I thought people who were Blessed were just…complaining. I didn’t understand what you all went through, even though…I guess I knew enough to stop it from happening to Enid. And the rebels…” My voice cracks. “I thought you were wrong. I really thought I was the good guy.”

“That’s not a sin, Tilda,” he murmurs gently.

“But it was wrong,” I snap, my hands curling into fists in my lap. “It was adeadlydifference of opinion. You know I came here to kill you, don’t you?”

The silence stretches again, this time weighted with something darker. My stomach churns. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, measured.

“I know,” he says. “The Heavenly Host put a bounty on my head a long time ago.”

“They told me they wouldn’t deliver Enid’s medicine unless I…” My throat tightens. “Unless I took care of you.”

His laugh is bitter, hollow. “‘Took care of me,’ huh?”

“Reyes, I didn’t mean?—”

“I forgive you,” he says, cutting me off.

The words hit me hard, knocking the air out of my lungs. Relief floods in first, but it’s quickly followed by anger. Resentment. Something raw and unnameable twists in my chest, and I glare at the curtain, at the faint shadow of him on the other side.

“I wasn’t asking for your forgiveness,” I spit out, my voice trembling with frustration.

His tone sharpens, dropping into a growl that sends a shiver down my spine. “Then how about God’s?”

I freeze, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. My hands tremble in my lap, my fingers digging into the fabric of my dress. “Please,” I whisper.

Reyes exhales slowly, the sound deep and deliberate. “Then kneel.”

This time it’s an order–one I can’t resist. My body moves before my mind catches up, and I drop to my knees in front of the chair, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. The curtain is all that separates us, but it might as well be nothing. The tension between us hums, alive and electric.

I hear him move, his footsteps soft against the grass as he steps around the curtain. His knees hit the ground in front of me, and his hands find mine. They’re warm, calloused, grounding me in the storm of my own emotions.

“You deserve forgiveness, Tilda,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly soft. “And as far as I’m concerned, you have it.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and I hate it. I hate that he’s seeing me like this—raw, exposed, vulnerable. But his hands tighten around mine, and I realize he’s not judging me. He’s not angry.

He’s just…here. Steady and unflinching.

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