His Mortal Soul (7 page)

Before Father O'Brian could protest, Kieran moved at the speed of sound to his room and closed the door. The scent of Sephora lingered on his skin. He smiled, turned on the shower and undressed. Steam filled the washroom. He stepped under the water, lathered a facecloth and cleaned away
mo lon dubh,
her scent and taste as though last night had never happened. His entire body ached to the bone, and he rested on the wall for support. Blood changed the color of the water. He checked for wounds, reached his face and found blood. He was crying. Not even at his parents’ funeral, when he was eighteen, had he shed a tear. But walking away from Sephora hollowed him.

He rinsed the soap from his body, which had fit perfectly with Sephora's. If it could, the demon inside would give him reason not to go through with this. The fiend wanted to return to her and, if he were honest with himself, so did he. But she was better off without him.

The black soutane hung on the front door of his wardrobe with the sash and the white clerical collar. Thirty-three buttons adorned the front to symbolize the length of Jesus's earthly life. His own would only be shorter by five. He'd experienced more than many. One by one, he put the layers on, and then adjusted his collar in the mirror. He picked up the rosary beads his godfather had given him for his confirmation. They had been blessed by John Paul II. Heat burned his flesh. Jaw clenched, he lowered them to the neck of his soutane, making sure they didn't touch his skin. He picked up the Bible his grandmother had handed down to him, wrapped in a handkerchief. He could not be late to his own ordination.

"Lord help me find the strength to do what is right, to hear when you speak to me and be guided by your hand.” He made the sign of the cross, exited his room and headed for the church.

The path was deserted. He stuck to the sides of the buildings to avoid direct sunlight. The other ten deacons being ordained leaned on the wall outside the back of the church.

"Kieran,” Martin Burke said. “Is it just me or did you not return last night?” The short man's face turned deep red, his beady eyes shone with interest.

"I didn't know you cared. What of it?” Kieran was trying not to think of Sephora.

"Talk about leaving it to the last moment. I gather you bit the bullet and took my advice to hire some companionship. At least you aren't doing this blind to what you are giving up."

Much like Martin and the others some weeks ago, Kieran had no idea what a true test of faith was. “It's not like that. I didn't hire someone."

"But there was someone ... Does this temptress of the flesh have a name?"

Kieran frowned. It hadn't been just about the flesh. What they'd shared was perfection until he'd lost control. If he hadn't gone too far, perhaps they could have had something. He'd realized his weakness and the demon's strength. It was good he'd realized before he'd truly hurt her. Who was he kidding? She was beautiful, intelligent and strong, with a wonderful life ahead of her. Involvement with him would only ruin her future. In another life or before he'd been turned, he could have offered her so much. Now there was him, the demon and the hunger. Soon he'd be distant memory to her.

"Sephora.” Though it was the name of Abraham's wife, the name was uncommon.

"Zipporah or Tsipora, Hebrew Old Testament, maybe not even a Christian, ay? Possibly a Jewish girl?” Martin's brow shot up. “See? We really can get along. Nostra Aetate of Vatican II has reached the masses of the Roman Catholic faith."

"She was raised without religion.” Kieran smiled. No indoctrination of good and evil, just an open heart to what felt right and wrong.

"A heathen. Of all of us, I wouldn't have thought you'd have—"

"You are about to represent God. Consider your words carefully..."

Martin had some strange interpretations of scripture better left to God for sorting out.

The door into the back of the church swung open.

"It's time,” the young altar boy blurted out.

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Sephora sat up in bed, gasping. The image of Kieran burning to death was still imprinted in her mind. She couldn't lose him.

The bed was empty. Sunlight shone on her. She shielded her eyes. Inside, the pull and connection to him had deepened. She was sure he wasn't dead yet. In the nightmare, the church clock stopped at 10:10. Kieran placed his hand on the Bible and said his vows. The man in a purple robe blessed him and Kieran had burst into flames. She couldn't allow that to happen. It could all be in her imagination, but she didn't care. If she made a fool of herself, he was worth it.

She tossed the covers off. The scars on her legs were gone. His blood had healed the markings those demons had tried to make her live with her entire life. He'd given her back her body. Why didn't he see the good that she saw shining through him? Tears filled the surface of her eyes.

Jumping out of bed, she grabbed a blouse and skirt. She hadn't been to a church since she was a child, but she was sure that jeans or tight pants wouldn't do. There was no time to fuss over her hair, so she tossed it up into a ponytail. Her suede, clunky heeled boots were the only footwear that would allow her to run and would go with what she wore. Not a Sunday hat in her closet to save her life. Best she not make note of it to her mama.

"Are you really going to burst into a church and try to talk him out of his plan?” she said, staring at her reflection. “If I don't try, I'll regret it forever.” The four love-bite marks on her neck from the night she'd shared with Kieran looked raw. She covered the area with Band-Aids, not to arouse anyone's suspicions. She didn't want to alert anyone to what Kieran was.

She dressed, and grabbed her shades before running out. Fog settled on the path to the seminary. Her heart pounded in her chest. What if she was too late? No, she could sense him and the mix of emotions, but didn't seem able to speak to him as he had with her. It didn't make any sense that he thought he was doing this for her. She wanted him as he was.

"Please don't let him die in such a painful way,” she prayed between breaths. Aside from her own selfish desire not to lose him, she couldn't fathom the agony of such a death. No god could want his child to suffer in this way. Not when his son had already suffered for our sins.

As she reached the property's edge, she couldn't figure out how to get to the church, which seemed to be moving farther away. A number of students followed a man they called Father O'Brian.

"Excuse me, Father.” Her voice was unexpectedly steady.

"Yes, my child.” He eyed the Band-Aids on her neck.

"I'm looking for a friend. He is being ordained today. Deacon Lorcan Kieran."

"The ceremony has begun,” he said.

Tears pooled in her eyes. Her legs wobbled. “Please take me to him. I beg of you."

He stepped closer. “Are you his
lon dubh
?"

"
Ta me ag. Ta me buartha do
.”
Yes, I am. I'm worried for him.
How she suddenly spoke Gaelic she didn't know. There were so many strange things happening to her. But none of it would matter if she didn't save Kieran.

"As am I. Come, my child, this way,” he said. “I've tried to speak with him. You might be able to reason with him."

Droplets slid along her cheek. “I can't lose him."

"You love him?” he asked, and stopped.

She nodded, unable to speak. Her body trembled with fear.

He guided her through narrow passages out into the courtyard. “He's blessed to have someone who cares for him so deeply. May you have success where I have failed."

"You know about what he is? You see the good in him still, don't you?” She couldn't be the only one who saw the light in him.

"I do, but he can't.” The priest frowned. It was obvious this man and Kieran were close.

"I don't know what I will say.” How did she convince him of his own goodness when he was sure he was evil?

"Let love guide you and God will speak through you."

"I hope you are right, Father.” If not, she was wrong about what last night meant to him.

They reached the door. The pounding of her heart sounded in her ears.

"I can't follow you in, but may God be with you.” He made the sign of the cross.

Sephora turned and pushed the heavy doors open. Beautiful stained glass vignettes of Christ's life bathed the space in an array of colors. The pews were full. Loved ones watched these men about to take a sacred oath to God.

She gulped back the fear in her throat.

Kieran knelt in front of a man dressed in a purple robe. The man held the Bible before Kieran, whose hand hovered inches above.

"Kieran!” she called out.

Everyone in the pews turned toward her.

"
Dhith orm duit
.”
I need you.
Those were the only words that came to mind. Though they were simple, they reflected how she felt inside.

He stood and his gaze met hers. “Sephora."

When he said her name, it made her legs weak. “Ay.” She couldn't make out what he was thinking. “Without you, I'm an empty shell. But when I am in your arms I'm filled, overflowing with joy and love. Don't go away. Don't cast me back into the darkness."

Everyone in the pews shifted their gazes to him.

He stepped down from the altar. As he walked toward her, the muscles in his jaw tightened. “
Mo lon dubh
, you've been crying.” He wiped her cheek.

At his touch, fire surged through her.

"I can't lose you, you are
mo salvation
,” she said. “God brought me to you for a reason."

"Aww,” the women in the church sighed, reminding her of their audience.

"There's nothing I can't face with you at my side.” She stepped closer.

"The moment I sensed you wake I promised God that if you came to me, I wouldn't send you away. I love you,” he said. “If you'll have me as I am."

"Ay,” she said with nod.

"
Dhith orm tu ro
.”
I need you too.
“Who am I to deny you and God?” He pulled her to him and kissed her.

Lust shot to her toes and the essence of him transposed into her being, connecting with her heart and soul. She gasped, parted her lips and suckled his tongue.

Cheers and claps erupted around them.

"Perhaps we should continue somewhere a little more private,” he whispered, and pressed his cheek to hers. “Spend your life with me."

She nodded. “Every night of it."

He picked her up and carried her out. “
When we marry
...” A hint of mischief glinted in his eyes.

"In a civil ceremony, right?” she asked.

He peered at her with a slanted grin. “A ceremony that honors us both."

She could definitely live an eternity with that. “I need you inside me again.” Wind swished around her. The path, buildings and trees stretched into a blur.

The movement around her stopped. A blind was pulled closed with heavy drapes covering a window. No sunlight entered the space. A bed was flush against the wall. A beige light came from the bathroom. The scent of soap hung in the air.

"Where are we?” she asked.

"My room.” Kieran removed his rosary beads. Smoke rose from his hands. The muscle in his jaw tightened. But he didn't protest. His beliefs were important to him. “For us to be together, I'm going to need to..."

"I know you'll need to turn me.” She placed her hand on his back. “Otherwise you'll always hold back in fear that the demon will gain control again."

He turned to her, head down, took her hand and kissed her palm. “It would make a valid reason, but it isn't why. I love you so much that I cannot let death part us. So
when we marry
and say our vows it will be
for eternity
. Not even death can come between us."

"You know what happened to me two years ago, don't you?” she asked, voice straining.

"What I know is,” he laid her hand on his heart, “you are the strongest, most beautiful woman I've ever set eyes on."

"Thank you.” She walked backward toward the bathroom. It was time to put that part of her life behind her and start this one. “I haven't had a chance to shower."

He followed. “I think I can help."

She loosened the sash around his waist and placed it on the vanity. “That's a lot of buttons."

"They are decorative.” He tugged his robe over his head. The muscles of his chest and abdomen flexed.

Who knew, about the buttons? Kieran pulled her blouse from her skirt and lifted it off. She unfastened her bra.

"You are beautiful.” As he nipped and nibbled her neck, he undid the button and zipper of her skirt, and rolled her panties down.

She stepped out of the lacy fabric. “Kieran, I love you."

"You are the bravest human being I know.” He reached in, turned the water on and adjusted it. “Telling you that I love you doesn't do justice to how I feel. I want to show you every moment what you mean to me,
mo lon dubh
. Not just with my body, but every action and decision I make. Whenever possible, I especially want to show you with my body several times a day."

"I like the sound of that."

She stepped into the small standup shower, and he followed. Water rushed over her. He blanketed her lips with his own. Accepting his tongue into her mouth, she pushed into the kiss and wrapped her arms around him.

"You belong with me,” she said.

"Ay, and you with me, Sephora."

She planted soft kisses down his chest until she knelt before him. Tongue to his cock, she licked from the base to the tip. He watched her. His deep blue eyes turned to flames. She parted her lips, took the head into her mouth and descended the shaft of his cock. His robust flavor coated the back of her throat. Back and forth, she glided along his penis. With each pass she sped her movements.

He reached down, under her arms, lifted her and she spread her legs around his waist. With a smooth motion, he pushed into her.

"Yes, Kieran..."

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Born from the union of her Scottish and Belgian mother and an African American and Cherokee father, a.c. Mason's youth was filled with dichotomies and moving from place to place. She developed a curiosity to explore through writing the seedy side of our nature and desires. Given her own diverse background, she writes stories that represent the world she grew up in. She is fluent in French and English. For the past eight years of her life, she has worked with one foot in the past, spanning such times as the 18th century, the Bering Strait theory to modern day, and now late Victorian. Her stories are the place where darkness meets human desire and fairytales endings are not promised, but earned.