24. The Altar of Us
Chapter twenty-four
The Altar of Us
Celeste
“I’m. . .so happy to see you, Celeste.” The way he said my name, it was a claiming. A tone that thrummed through me, resonating in my chest, my stomach, and even lower still.
He closed the door behind us with a resounding thud, sealing us inside the cathedral and leaving the storm outside to rage on without us.
But the lusty hot storm between us?
That was only just beginning.
Oh my God. Now we’re alone again and all I want to do is ride him so bad, but I can’t be nasty in here. . .again. . .
I swallowed and took in the space.
Inside, the cathedral was eerily silent.
Shadows stretched along the walls.
The faint scent of lingering incense hung in the air.
My heels clicked softly against the polished floor.
Cassian’s voice was low and steady. “We should talk. How about in the first pew?”
“That sounds. . .good.”
“Come on.” And then he reached for my hand and curled his fingers around mine.
Mmmm.
The warmth of his hand hit me first. It was the kind of warmth that wasn’t just physical but carried with it this deep slow-burning fire.
Second, the contrast was intoxicating—my chilled skin against his heat, the way his thumb brushed just slightly against my knuckles, sending a shiver racing up my spine.
As we walked on, I couldn’t stop staring at the place where our hands met, the sight of his large, calloused fingers wrapped around my smaller ones.
My lips parted as a tremor of need coursed through me.
His thumb moved again, brushing against the pulse at my wrist, and I swore he must have felt how fast it was racing.
His eyes flicked to mine for a brief moment, and the intensity there stole the air from my lungs.
Wow.
Keeping my slow pace, he cleared his throat. “Let’s go up to the altar so I can light some candles.”
I nodded, unable to find my words.
In that simple touch, he had already unraveled me, and I didn’t know how to put myself back together.
I looked forward.
The storm outside began to roar like a feral beast. Its fury echoed through the cathedral’s towering arches as cracks of lightning illuminated the stained glass in bursts of spectral light.
We’re really in here by ourselves.
St. Perseverance was beautiful in the daytime, but at night, it became something else entirely.
The stained-glass windows were dark now, their brilliant reds, blues, and golds dulled by the absence of sunlight.
During the day, those windows told the stories of salvation and sacrifice.
Now, they loomed like empty eyes, watching, judging, as if aware of the forbidden thoughts swirling in my mind. Rain streamed down the panes of the stained glass, turning the sacred scenes of saints and martyrs into blurred, kaleidoscopic images of melting colors.
Next to me, Cassian moved with a graceful strength that stirred warmth in my belly. Even his bare feet dominantly stepping on the stone floor made my heart skip at the vulnerability he was showing me.
Lightning flashed again, slicing through the shadows with a sharp, white brilliance.
We got close to the altar at the far end of the cathedral and I drank it in. That space shimmered faintly in the dim light and was carved entirely from Italian marble. It was a pale alabaster, veined with streaks of silver and gold.
Tonight, the surface looked cool.
Atop the altar stood a massive Bible, too large for human hands to turn its pages, measuring roughly four feet long and six feet wide, bound in thick, weathered leather the color of midnight.
The Bible rested on an elevated pedestal that had carvings of cherubs and angels and was barely two feet from the floor.
Thunder roared in a rumble of crackling waves, vibrating through the very foundation of the cathedral.
I glanced at Cassian who was watching me. “Why is that big Bible up there?”
“The sisters are preparing for the Feast of St. Perseverance this Sunday. It is a day of renewal and reflection. That Bible has been with the cathedral since its inception.”
“Oh.”
“It was a gift from the Castellano family. Each year, on this day, we use it for special readings.”
I glanced back at the Bible. “It’s beautiful.”
He nodded, yet never glanced in that Bible’s direction.
I had all of his attention.
Alright, Father. You keep looking at me that way. . .and I’ll take you down in this aisle.
I cleared my throat and continued forward.
Around the altar, golden candelabras stood with unlit candles.
Behind it, the massive gold crucifix on the wall loomed.
The figure of Christ stretched across the gleaming cross, every detail painstakingly crafted—his ribs protruding from the strain, his arms pulled taut against the nails, but it was the expression on his face that undid me.
His gaze pierced through the shadows, finding mine. There was pain in that expression, yes, but also something deeper—something that felt far too familiar after my dream.
I shivered and my dream came rushing back with gut-wrenching clarity.
The hill.
The crosses.
The sky heavy with grief.
Jesus, hanging there, battered and broken.
“Because I love humanity. And humanity needed love more than anything else.”
Before, I had seen the crucifixion as something distant, abstract—an event tied to stories, sermons, and symbolism. But now, it felt too real. The vision in my dream had laid bare the brutal truth of it.
Jesus wasn’t just a savior in that moment.
He was a man.
A man who had endured unimaginable agony because of love.
And then there was the other part of the dream—his body, his voice, the way he had spoken about desire and its place in the divine plan.
I looked up again at the crucifix.
“The physical is not separate from the spiritual—it is a reflection of it.”
To me, this golden Christ was different now. There wasn’t just suffering on his face anymore. Love was also etched on there.
Love not just for the world, but love for me, for Cassian, for anyone who had ever felt the sharp pull of longing.
The ache of forbidden desire.
Thank you, Jesus.
We climbed the two steps and stopped right at the altar.
My heart twisted as I stared at the golden wounds on Jesus’s hands and feet.
“Give me one minute.” Cassian let go of my hand, walked past me, and stepped up onto the altar. “There should be some matches by the candles.”
More rain pounded against the stained-glass windows in a steady rhythm, broken only by the occasional crack of thunder.
Lightning slashed, illuminating the cathedral in a blinding flash—and that’s when I saw them.
The scar on Cassian’s back.
What?!
My breath caught in my throat, freezing me in place as my gaze locked on his back.
What the hell?
This thick huge scar ran from the curve of his shoulder to his lower back—a jagged, angry line that looked like it had been carved with malice.
I just. . .don’t understand.
Not knowing I was looking at it, Cassian found a pack of matches on the pulpit, took one out, and struck it against the box.
A tiny flame sputtered to life before he lit the first candle.
The light grew, soft and golden, casting an ethereal glow around him. Now his back became more visible as my eyes adjusted, and I realized it wasn’t just one big scar.
Oh no!
It was hundreds of them. Long, brutal scars crisscrossed his back in a horrifying patchwork of pain, each mark a chapter in a book about the sort of suffering I couldn’t begin to fathom.
Some of the scars were pale and faded, healed over time but still stark against his tanned skin.
Others were pink and fresh, like they’d been made only days ago.
W-what happened?
He struck another match and lit another candle.
I stepped closer, my heart hammering in my chest.
I could barely breathe.
The thick bands of muscle in his back shifted as he moved, and the scars caught the flickering candlelight, turning them into grotesque shadows. Those ragged, torn edges rose and fell like mountains of ache.
This wasn’t the work of an accident.
No, someone—or something—had done this to him.
Or worse, he had done this to himself.
Jesus’s words filled my mind.
“Go to him, Celeste. Right now. He’s going to hurt himself, and I cannot get through to him no matter how I try. It is only you in his mind. Stop him from hurting himself.”
Cassian lit a third candle.
I stepped closer and reached my hand out, but didn’t touch his back just yet.
This is so wrong.
I wanted to scream.
To cry.
To demand answers.
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.
My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t pull in enough air.
The soft glow of the candles illuminated the space, casting golden light over the altar and spilling faintly onto Cassian’s broad back. My fingers hovered, trembling, just above his skin, hesitating.
And I moved my hand closer.
The moment my fingertips brushed his flesh, Cassian froze.
He didn’t turn around.
Didn’t even flinch.
The match burned out in his hand.
Why would he do this to himself?
The very idea of it made me so damn sad.
My fingers gently traced one jagged scar, then another. The raised ridges of flesh was warm beneath my touch. I couldn’t stop tracing the lines and following the torn paths across his shoulders, down the planes of his back, and lower still.
I whispered, “Cassian.”
He remained still.
“What happened to you?”
The silence stretched between us.
Thick and heavy.
The storm outside filled the void. Its furious rain hammered against the cathedral windows while the thunder roared.
Cassian let out a deep sigh.
More tears stung at the corners of my eyes as I pressed my palm flat against his back, feeling the heat of his body and the scars that marred it. “Cassian, please talk to me. Jesus said you were about to hurt yourself. Is this what he meant?”
“You said that so casually.”
“I believe in the power of dreams.”
A dark chuckle left him. “I do too. . .perhaps. . .recently. . .I’ve been looking at my dreams in the wrong way.”
“You did this to your back?”
“I did.”
“How?”
He turned slightly, just enough for me to see the profile of his face, shadowed by the flickering candlelight.
“There’s a whip,” He lowered his voice as if he were confessing to something unholy. “It is in my bedroom.”
My stomach twisted painfully. “A whip?”
“For penance.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as though it explained everything.
But it didn’t.
Not even close.
“For penance?” I blinked. “You’re telling me you whip yourself?”
“When my thoughts are profane. When I stray too far from the righteous path. When I dream of—”
“What?”
“When I dream of you.”
“N-no.” I scowled and dropped my hand from his back. “Don’t you ever do that again. Never.”
Rage flared hot in my chest, mingling with the sorrow that had already settled there.
“How many times have you hurt yourself over me?”
He was silent for a long moment, then said softly, “Since you returned. . . I’ve whipped myself a lot.”
Tears spilled over my lids, sliding down my cheeks in hot, angry streams. “I don’t understand.”
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your voice, your face, your body. It all haunted me. You made me question everything I’ve ever believed in, everything I’ve ever devoted my life to.” He turned fully to face me now. “And for that, I punished myself, thinking it was the right thing to do.”
My hands shook at my sides. “You’re not supposed to punish yourself for being human, Cassian. You’re not supposed to hurt yourself because you feel something—because you have feelings for me .”
“It wasn’t just feeling. It was insanely obsessive wanting . So badly it consumed me.”
“You know what Jesus said in my dream?”
He pursed his lips.
“He said He died for our sins and our pleasures, for all the evil things we did, but the love and passion too. He said that He loved us, and He couldn’t get through to you.”
Cassian quirked his brows.
“So He told me to go to you.” I pointed at him. “He said you were hurting yourself, so I don’t know if you are into signs or anything—”
“I believe in signs from God.”
“Good, then this is the biggest sign you can ever get.” I glared at him. “Don’t you ever hurt yourself again. Promise me, Cassian. Promise me you’ll never hurt yourself.”
His gaze held mine, unflinching, as though he were weighing my words against the weight of his own guilt.
“C-cassian,” My voice shook. “Promise me.”
A faint, almost bittersweet smile touched his lips. “You love me.”
The statement caught me off guard, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“I. . .” Blinking, I swallowed hard, and my heart pounded furiously in my chest. “Well. . .yes. I love you.”
The smile widened, and for the first time since I’d arrived, his expression softened. “You love me a lot. I can see it all over your face, in those tears, in the way your voice shakes.”
“Could you just promise me that you won’t hurt yourself?”
“I will never hurt myself again.”
Tension left my shoulders.
“And. . .”
I widened my eyes. “And?”
“I love you too, Celeste.”
Those three words—hit me with the force of a tidal wave. They wrapped around my heart, squeezing, pressing, until it felt like I might break apart under the sheer weight of them.
For a moment, the storm outside seemed to still, as if the world itself had paused to witness this fragile, beautiful truth hanging between us.
All that existed was him, his gaze locked on mine, and the unshakable certainty that he meant every word.
My legs felt unsteady.
How could three simple words undo me like this?
How could they strip me bare and leave me standing there, vulnerable and exposed, yet more complete than I’d ever felt before?
“And. . .” His gaze darkened. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
He loved me. This man, with all his strength, his flaws, his struggles, loved me. Not in some distant, abstract way, but deeply, completely, with a passion that I could feel in every syllable he spoke.
He took my hand and squeezed it. “Celeste.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve made a decision.”
I tilted my head. “What decision?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m going to stop being a priest.”
The words hit me like a clap of thunder.
My voice came out more breathless than I intended. “What?”
“You heard me, Celeste.” His gaze never wavered. “I can’t continue to be a priest. Not like this.”
I stared at him. “I don’t want you to ruin your life over me.”
“I’m not ruining my life. I’m just finally choosing to truly live.”
“You like being a priest,” I argued. “You help people. You bring them hope, guidance—”
“I like being a priest, but I love you.” His words hit me like a tidal wave.
Then, he turned slightly and swept his gaze across the altar as if saying goodbye. “This might be the last time I stand here, and I’m okay with that. I embrace it.”
My chest tightened. “But. . .there are priests who have wives, right? I mean, I think that’s a thing. I’m not sure, but—”
He shook his head gently. “It’s not about that. It’s about the vow I made, the life I chose long ago when I didn’t understand love, or life, or even. . .” His gaze settled on me. “when I didn’t know the power of a beautiful, amazing woman like you.”
Guilt stabbed at me like a blade.
“Celeste. . .I broke my vows the moment I let myself fall for you. And I don’t regret it. Not for a single second.”
Holy shit.
He continued, “I tried to whip my desire for you out of my body.”
Tears burned in my eyes as sadness washed over me. “Cassian, no. . .”
“And even the pain and blood couldn’t push it away.” He brushed his thumb along my palm. “I prayed to God for a sign, Celeste. Something to tell me what to do, to help me find my way. And He sent you to me—twice. First in the confessional, and now tonight during this storm.”
I swallowed hard.
His jaw tightened. “I’ve spent my entire life teaching others that God’s love is infinite, unconditional. But the love I’ve felt for you. . .it’s taught me something I never understood before. God doesn’t just want us to serve Him—He wants us to live. To love. To find joy. To experience passion.”
Cassian paused and then weaved his fingers through mine.
“My connection to the Church will change. That I understand. However. . .” His gaze softened. “Maybe this is the next step in my relationship with God—a transformation into something I’ve never dared to imagine.”
I blinked, trying to absorb the enormity of what he was saying.
He stepped closer, the warmth of his body enveloping me, grounding me. “All I can think about now is a future with you. Loving you. Building a life together. A family.”
My heart boomed in my ears.
“I know you’re dealing with your mom. I know life is complicated.” He let go of my hand and raised his to cup my cheek. “But I want to be there for you. With you. Through all of it.”
More damn tears spilled over. “You would really give all of this up for me?”
“I’m not giving anything up.” His voice was firm. “I’m choosing you. And I believe, with every part of me, that God is okay with that. More than okay. I think He sent you to save me.”
A sob escaped me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. “I-I want this. I want you to be right. I. . .want you in my life. . .forever.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then, why do I feel so guilty?”
“Maybe, it’s not guilt, but fear. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life. More than I’ve ever loved God.”
I widened my eyes.
Before I could respond, he pulled me closer, his hand tangling in my hair as his lips found mine.
The kiss was everything—fire and passion, tenderness and need. His mouth moved against mine, and I melted into him, clutching at his bare shoulders as if letting go would break me.
He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through me and igniting every nerve in my body. His hands roamed, gripping my waist, yanking me flush against him.
The warmth of his skin, the strength of his arms, the sheer intensity of his presence consumed me.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the cathedral in a stark, white brilliance.
He pulled back barely an inch and whispered against my mouth. “I want you, Celeste.”
“Then, let’s go somewhere—”
“We don’t need to leave—”
“If you want me, we should—”
“No.” And then, his face shifted to this deranged lusty expression. “Let’s fuck right here.”