Dove
T he town is buzzing, whispers on every corner about the dead Jezebel. The name makes my heart skip a beat—Zia. I know her. She used to be one of us, a member of the church, promised to her brother as his future bride. But Zia was different, born a sinner, they said. She turned her back on the duties expected of her, the first woman ever to run away from our church. And now, after all this time, she reappears, dead. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the church’s doing—a punishment for her defiance. Her sin wasn’t mine to cleanse, but her husband’s, the one she shamed and humiliated when she ran off with that biker.
As I stroll toward the bookstore, the gossip swirls around me, each word fueling my growing agitation. The chatter grates on my nerves, a constant reminder of the consequences of rebellion. I push open the bookstore door, grateful for the sanctuary it offers from the relentless prattle. The familiar scent of old paper and coffee wraps around me as I step into the dimly lit interior, it's quite a balm to my frayed nerves.
I drift through the shelves, my fingers brushing the spines of the books as my mind drifts to darker places. I’m drawn to stories of twisted romances, men who stalk their women, tales filled with secrets and betrayal. Not that I’d ever act on these fantasies, but they offer a momentary escape from the suffocating reality outside. As I let my fingers trace the embossed titles, I can’t help but wonder— what if I were to run away? What would they do to me? A shiver runs down my spine as the thought crosses my mind, but I quickly push it away.
Zia was just a wife, but I’m something more. I am the rebirth of Lilith, consecrated to the Prophet. One day, I will bear his children. The very thought makes bile rise in my throat, and I force myself to focus on the books in front of me. My gaze lands on a thick, leather-bound tome—“Taming Her,” a forbidden romance between cousins. The pages are black, each one filled with scandalous illustrations and even more scandalous words. It’s the perfect distraction.
Consumed by the book, I don’t notice the figure that has quietly entered the bookstore. I’m too engrossed in the foul words, the pretty pictures, until a voice speaks from behind me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Interesting choice of book,” the voice is smooth, low, and unmistakable. I turn sharply, my breath catching when I see him—Alex. He stands there, dark eyes boring into mine with a knowing glint. Dressed in a black button-down shirt and black pants that fit him like a glove, his dark brown hair perfectly combed back, as though he stepped out of one of the very fantasies I’d been reading about. He’s calm considering what happened earlier today which makes me even more curious about him. Why is this outsider not getting the fuck out of this town.
I clear my throat, trying to calm my racing heart. “Just browsing,” I say, but the words come out more like a squeak .
He smirks, that same playful, almost dangerous glint in his eyes. “Browsing? For more forbidden pleasures, I see.” His voice is a silky tease, laced with the kind of heat that makes my stomach flutter.
I shift on my feet, suddenly very aware of how exposed I feel under his gaze. “I… I was just curious,” I mumble, trying to gather my wits. His presence has a way of unraveling me, and I hate how easily he seems to notice.
He takes a step closer, the air between us thickening with tension. “Curiosity can be very seductive, don’t you think?” His voice drops to a whisper, and the sound sends a thrill through me, like a spark igniting a fire. I feel my cheeks flush under his scrutiny, my mind racing with thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
Why does he always affect me like this? Who is he, really? And why does he seem to see right through me, straight to the parts of myself I keep hidden from everyone else? My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, I wonder what would happen if I just gave in—if I let myself be as reckless as Zia had been.
He’s close now, so close that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne—dark, woody, and intoxicating. But there’s something else mixed in, something unexpected—the faint aroma of incense, like the kind burned in church. The combination surprises me, catching me off guard. His presence is overwhelming, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Every nerve in my body is alive, buzzing with a mix of fear and excitement. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I can’t help it. He’s like a dark temptation, a sin I’m desperate to commit.
“Just curious?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “Or is there something more you’re looking for, Marisol?”
The sound of my name on his lips sends a jolt through me and I nearly drop the book in my hands. My thoughts are a chaotic whirl of desire and panic. Why does my name coming from his lips sound so sinful when he says it ?
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer, but the lie is obvious, even to me.
His smile widens, a predator’s grin. “Liar,” he whispers, his voice dripping with amusement. “But I like that about you. Always pretending to be so good, so obedient. But I see the truth, Marisol. I see what you really are.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a heat pooling low in my belly. His words are like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous, and I’m helpless to resist. My mind screams at me to run, to get away from him before it’s too late, but my body betrays me. I’m rooted to the spot, mesmerized by his presence, craving more. Needing more.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I hate how weak I sound, how desperate.
He leans in closer, so close that his lips almost brush mine. “What do I want? I want to watch you unravel, Marisol. I want to see you give in to everything you’ve been denying yourself. Don’t you want that too?”
Yes.
The answer is yes, and it terrifies me. I can feel my pulse racing, my skin tingling with anticipation. This is wrong, all wrong, but I can’t bring myself to care. All I can think about is how it would feel to let go, to let him take control, to finally surrender to the dark desires I’ve been hiding for so long.
Before I can answer, the bell above the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer. The spell between us breaks, and he steps back, his smile fading just slightly. “Until next time,” he murmurs, his voice a promise that makes my pulse quicken.
I watch him disappear between the shelves, his presence lingering like a ghost, haunting the corners of my thoughts. Who is he, and what is it about him that leaves me so unsteady, so vulnerable? My hand trembles slightly as I consider putting the forbidden romance back on the shelf, but his words echo in my mind, stirring something dangerous inside me.
Just as I’m about to return the book, the soft chime of the doorbell catches my attention. I glance up and see him leaving the shop. He doesn’t look back, but his departure feels deliberate, like a final tease, leaving me on edge. Instead of placing the book back on the shelf, I clutch it tighter. What’s one more forbidden romance on my shelf? The idea of running, of defying my own destiny, gnaws at me. Could I do it? Could I break free, as Zia tried to? Or am I too trapped, too caught in the web of expectations and duties? Alex’s words, his presence, have planted a seed of doubt in me, one I can’t easily shake.
I try to clear my thoughts, but they keep circling back to him, to the strange, unspoken connection between us. A connection that, for better or worse, I know will draw me back to him again.
Lost in my thoughts, I wander through the aisles aimlessly, my fingers trailing over the spines of books without truly seeing them. The encounter with the mysterious man, Alex, plays over and over in my mind, each replay making my pulse quicken. Was it just a chance meeting, or was there something more, something deeper to his sudden appearance in my life? I know I shouldn’t be obsessing like this. It’s dangerous—Daddy owns this town, and even talking to a stranger, let alone a man like him, could earn me punishment. But I can’t help it. Seeing him, hearing his voice, has awakened something in me, something I can’t quite control.
I make my way to the checkout counter, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Alex. The shopkeeper, Tania, is there, giving me a strange look as she chews on her gum. Her blue eyeshadow is heavily caked on her eyelids, and her blonde hair is teased to perfection, just like always. Tania’s known for her sharp tongue and even sharper wit—she never holds back. As she rings up my purchase, she leans in closer, her perfume cloying, almost suffocating .
“Wouldn’t think a girl like you would read this kind of book. It’s sexy,” she says casually, her voice dripping with curiosity. My cheeks flush as I fumble for words, the heat rising in my face. The last thing I need is someone like Tania getting suspicious.
Noticing my discomfort, Tania just chuckles, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “Don’t worry, honey, your secrets are safe with me,” she says with a wink, sliding the book into a discreet brown paper bag. I mumble a quick thank you and hastily make my exit from the bookstore, eager to escape the prying eyes and tantalizing whispers that seem to follow me wherever I go in this town. With my head down and my bag pressed tightly against my chest, I hurry back to my house, avoiding the town square and the park—places where idle chit-chat and curious glances are all too common. My heart pounds in a frantic rhythm as I quicken my pace, dodging the familiar faces that could pull me into their webs of gossip.
But instead of finding my way home, I find myself inexplicably drawn to the church. I don’t know why I’m here, but something compels me to this place. It’s as if destiny itself has guided my feet to this sacred ground. I stand before the church doors, frozen in place, feeling an invisible force pulling me closer. My hands tremble as I reach for the door, half-expecting someone to stop me, but the town is too busy whispering behind closed doors. Besides, who would question me going into a church?
I push the door open, and a cool draft greets me, carrying the scent of old wood and incense. The door creaks shut behind me, leaving me alone in the dimly lit sanctuary.
“Are you here to confess your literary sins?”
A deep, familiar voice echoes through the church, laced with amusement and a hint of something darker. I jump, clutching the brown paper bag to my chest. Turning around, I see the man from the bookstore, the one who has haunted my thoughts. But now, seeing him here, I could almost laugh at the irony .
“A priest? You’re a priest?” I stammer, eyes wide with disbelief as I take in the sight of him. His onyx eyes gleam with an unsettling mixture of purity and sin, and his lips curl into a wry grin, revealing teeth that are almost too perfect, too white against the shadow of stubble on his jaw.
“I wear many hats,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over the black button-down he wears—definitely not the robes of a priest. His eyes drift down to the brown paper bag I’m clutching, and he raises an eyebrow, teasing me with that knowing look.
“You were just at the bookstore?” I ask, utterly bewildered. He steps forward, muscles rippling beneath his shirt, with a predatory smile playing on his lips.
“Is it really that surprising?” he asks, amusement dancing in his onyx eyes. The stained glass windows cast colorful patterns across his chiseled features, making him look otherworldly, almost too beautiful for this sacred place. “I like books. I enjoy reading in my free time. Books are like holy scripture to me. And maybe I wanted to see you again.”
“Is this your confession, then?” I dare to tease, holding the bag closer to my chest. His laughter fills the church, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.
"Me, confess? I fear it would take more than a confession to absolve my transgressions," he says smoothly, running a hand through his dark hair. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he leans casually against one of the wooden pews, crossing his arms over his chest.
I blink, trying to process what he just revealed. "Is your name even Alex?" I ask, my voice laced with confusion and curiosity. “Or was that a lie?”
He chuckles softly, though there’s an undercurrent of something darker. “I suppose I can admit that I gave you my dead name—Alex. The name my mother gave me. But my name, it’s Matheo, the name my father chose for me. ”
A shadow flickers across his face, but his smile doesn’t waver. “Alex was real,” he says, his voice softer now, almost reflective. “Alex is who I was. But Matheo... Matheo is who I am now. It's who I’ve become. The name my father gave me to reflect the man I’m meant to be.”
My mind races as I try to reconcile the man, I thought I knew with the one standing before me now. “Matheo…” I repeat, the name feeling unfamiliar yet somehow right for him. “And the meetings at the bookstore... were they planned?”
His gaze drops momentarily before locking back onto mine, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Yes,” he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “I had to see you. So, I went back there in hopes that you would be there.”
His words send a thrill through me, my breath catching. “You came to see me?” I ask, my heart pounding.
He nods, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes, I couldn’t stay away, Marisol,” he says, his voice low and charged with intensity. “Not then. Not now. Not ever. There’s something between us... something I can’t ignore.”
My pulse quickens as he closes the distance between us, his presence consuming. “And what is that, exactly?” I whisper, the words barely escaping my lips.
He reaches out, his fingers lightly grazing my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. “A pull,” he murmurs, “a connection... something that defies reason. It’s like fate itself has brought us together, Marisol. But it’s dangerous... for both of us.”
His words hang in the air between us, and I’m caught between fear and desire. Whatever this is, it’s beyond anything I’ve ever felt. And yet, I can’t deny the truth in his eyes—the same truth that burns within me.
The revelation sends a shock through me, and I struggle to find my voice. “Matheo… Father Matheo,” I whisper, tasting the name on my lips. It feels forbidden, as if by speaking it, I’m invoking something dark, something I shouldn’t dare to summon.
I swallow hard, my thoughts swirling with a mix of fear, excitement, and an obsessive pull I can’t resist. “I… I read a book once,” I begin, my voice trembling. “About a priest and a nun. There’s a scene in it… something I’ve always wanted to act out.”
His eyes darken with understanding, the playful glint replaced by something far more dangerous. He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze making my knees weak, my thoughts frantic. The teachings, the warnings, the whispers of the Prophet flood my mind, telling me to resist, but the pull is stronger—something far more powerful than any doctrine.
“And what scene would that be?” he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if the sacred space we occupy could shatter under the weight of our desires. The air between us crackles with tension, the sanctity of the church now tainted by the sinful thoughts racing through my mind. My heart beats faster, my thoughts spiraling into a maddening loop: This is wrong. This is right. This is destiny.
I take a deep breath, daring to step closer, my heart pounding so loudly I fear he might hear it. “The scene where the priest finally gives in to temptation,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Where he loses himself… to sin.”
His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I shiver at the touch. His closeness is intoxicating, overwhelming, and I find myself drowning in the depths of his eyes. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, Marisol?” he asks, his voice a velvet caress, pulling me deeper into the abyss of my own desires.
I don’t answer with words, but the look in my eyes says he understood. The voices in my head scream of sin, of damnation, of the Prophet’s wrath, yet all I feel is an overpowering need—an obsession that eclipses everything else. I’ve been led here by something greater than myself, drawn into this forbidden dance with the man who was once Alex, now Father Matheo. And I’m ready—ready to be damned if it means being with him, ready to abandon everything I’ve known for the promise of what lies beyond these earthly bonds.