Parker's POV
Padre Sergio just came in from Italy on a missionary work to Nevada. He chose to reside in my pack, Lanville Pack. Tall, gorgeous and well-built, he seemed to be the dream man of the girls. All the young unmated girls in the pack who never took church life seriously now attend his masses early in the morning and prayer sermons in the evening, lining up in the front rows.
But something told me he wasn't interested in any of them. He's a priest, no doubt, but that doesn't make him void of feelings.
Having lost my mate and preparing for his burial, the church was my comfort place. Close to the pack house, I often strolled her late in the afternoons, sitting at the altar, talking to the Divine.
Each time he came out from the sacristy to kneel beside me or in front of me, a meter or two away. It seemed as though he was always looking out for me, waiting for me to come to church to pray. Each time our eyes met, I felt a tickle. One sensation I haven't felt with anyone after Mario. At times, I wanted to prolong the gaze but thought it wasn't appropriate.
I would slowly turn away, shut my eyes and continue praying. He always left before I finished praying, I'll open my eyes and not find him, my heart would go gloomy, wishing I could call him back.
This persisted for the ten days in between Mario was killed by some rogues and the day of his burial. I could barely survive without having at least a glance of him a day. The early morning masses and prayer sermons late in the evening weren't enough. My wolf needed a private company and he always ensured to give me each time.
I always yearned for the day he would talk to me. Those flickering gazes he often gave me each time we met told he was shy. But he's not an introvert. I always witnessed him talk, joke and laugh with the pack members who came up to greet him after the masses.
In as much as they're always crowded over him, his eyes would linger on me as I sat on the bench meditating. This made me think he had some feelings for me.
It was a feeling at the wrong time, though it soothed me, I couldn't really appreciate it when I just lost my man, the first mate I got who suited my sexuality and one I dreamt to spend my forever with.
No! It would be a betrayal to him.
On the day of the burial, it hit me the hardest that I was going to miss him forever. We would never get to talk, cuddle and make out again. I would never see his beautiful face again. I sobbed, breaking totally down at the burial.
No one understood how I felt, they thought he was just my best friend, a guy-in-waiting to the young Alpha. All condolences I received were made without any emotions in them, the more I heard of them, the more I was pissed.
When I lifted my eyes to the front, I saw him. Padre Sergio in tears, staring at me from the front where he was officiating the funeral with the sincerest concern I'd ever seen in any man before and his eyes were fixed on me from time to time.
This was the first day I spoke to him.
After Mario was lowered to the ground and everyone left one by one.
It hit the hardest as I remained here alone, by the graveside until one man came by.
To wait by me, to share in my sorrows. The teary eyes were still there as they looked at me.
In the midst of my sorrow, I was amused. Today turned out to be the first day he came so close, the first day he looked at me without flinching.
But then, something happened.
It was like a soft pull inside me. Like a gentle string being tugged. I felt it in my chest first. Then lower. A warmth spreading from my ribs to my stomach. I turned my head slowly, and he was already looking at me.
His eyes held mine for a second longer than they should have. My heartbeat jumped. Then he broke out the silence.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said, even though I knew it was a lie.
He walked closer and crouched next to me. "You're shivering."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He took off his coat and placed it gently over my shoulders without asking. I didn't fight him. I didn't even have the strength to say no. His scent hit me—warm, soft, something like rosemary and ashwood. It filled my nose, and for some reason, my wolf stirred.
I blinked fast and looked away.
No. This wasn't right.
This was grief playing tricks on me. PTSD, that's what it was. It had to be. My mate just died. My one and only. The one the Moon Goddess gave me. There was no way my wolf should be reacting to someone else. Especially not now.
He sat beside me, not saying anything. Just breathing. Just being there. And oddly enough, his silence was comforting. I didn't want anyone else around, but somehow his presence didn't feel too loud.
"I'm sorry," he said after a long pause. "I know this kind of pain never really leaves."
I didn't answer.
"You loved him, didn't you?"
My body stiffened. How can he be the only one to speak my mind?
My eyes flicked to his face, and I saw no judgment there. Just quiet understanding. I didn't say yes. I didn't say no. But I think he already knew.
"I wasn't just praying for his soul today," he whispered. "I was praying for you. So you recover from the grief."
I didn't know what to say to that. My throat was dry.
I stood slowly and offered a hand. "Let me treat you to a drink, padre." I was moved by this care. I wanted to show gratitude.
That made him give a small, tired chuckle.
"I owe you," I said, finally standing. "You didn't have to stay back."
"I didn't want to leave you alone."
I nodded. "Come to the packhouse. We'll have a drink. Just... to say thanks."
He nodded gently. "Alright."
—
The packhouse was quiet when we got back. I told the guards to give us space, and they did. Everyone knew I wasn't in the mood to talk. Padre Sergio followed me to the private lounge. It was warm there, the fireplace burning low.
I poured us a drink—one of the stronger ones from the Alpha's stash. I should've gone easy. But I didn't care. I wanted the fire in my chest. I wanted the burning. Maybe it would kill the cold inside me.
He took the drink with a small nod and sipped. Then I winced.
"God," he muttered. "That's strong."
I smirked and sipped mine too.
One glass turned into two. Two into four. Then I lost count.
We talked. Not deeply. Just little things. He told me how he wasn't always a priest. He once trained to be a soldier. That shocked me. But I could see the strength in his arms now. The calm in his voice made sense. The discipline.
I told him a few things too. Not about Mario. But about my father. About how hard it was to live up to the Alpha title sometimes. He listened. No judgment. No pity. Just listened.
Somewhere between our sixth and seventh drink, I felt my body grow heavier.
He was laughing at something I said. A soft, warm laugh. Not loud. Not fake. It was the kind of laugh that made you feel seen. My wolf stirred again.
I looked at him.
And suddenly, everything shifted.
His face wasn't just kind anymore—it was beautiful. His eyes had depth. His lips were pink and soft-looking. His neck, exposed under his loose collar, looked... tempting.
I blinked and looked away.
What the hell was I thinking?
He was a priest. A man of God. And I was broken. Grieving. My mate was barely on the ground. My mind was probably messed up.
But I couldn't stop looking.
And he wasn't looking away either.
Then he spoke, voice low. "Do you feel that?"
I swallowed. "What?"
"This pull."
My chest tightened. "It's nothing."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah... nothing. Just... maybe the alcohol."
"Yeah," I said quickly. "The drink."
But it didn't feel like just the drink. He shifted closer. I didn't move away. My breath caught. His hand brushed mine. My skin burned. He looked into my eyes and whispered, "I should go."
"Maybe," I said.
But neither of us moved. Then his lips touched mine. It was soft. Careful. Almost like he was asking permission. I didn't stop him. I kissed him back.
But his phone rang. "Hell no, I'll be late."
"What's that?" I muttered beneath my breath.
"A sick call visitation." Before I could speak a word, he was already scrambling to go. "Bye, be good. I can't tell when I'll see you again." And off he went, leaving me in a sea of suspense.