Chapter 3: The Fever of the Altar

I pull my hand away as if his skin has scorched me. He picks the sketch up from the floor, his movements slow and steady, but his eyes never leave mine.

“I have to go,” I whisper. My voice is thin and breathless.

He simply nods, his expression unreadable. “Of course, Sister Clara.”

I turn and walk out, my heart beating so fast I can feel it in my throat. I don’t have to look back to know his eyes are on me, tracing my retreat until I disappear around the corner. I navigate the long, cold hallway leading to my room, my boots echoing against the stone.

Maya is waiting for me right outside my door, leaning against the wall with a knowing smirk.

“You certainly took your time,” she teases, pushing herself off the wall. “Was the architecture that complicated, or was it the architect?”

“I was working, Maya,” I say, my voice more defensive than I intend. I fumble with my keys, unlock the door, and walk inside.

Maya follows me in before I can close the door. She sits on the edge of my small wooden chair, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Come on, Clara. Tell me about Father Julian. What is his voice like up close? He looks like he would have a voice like velvet. I’ve never seen a man like that in a collar. He is just… magnetic.”

“Stop it,” I say, turning to face her. “Stop, Maya. This is wrong. It is so wrong. You can’t admire a priest like that. We have taken vows. He has taken vows.”

She looks at me for a moment, her smile fading into something more serious. She sighs and stands up, smoothing her habit. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just… it is a very small town, Clara. But you’re right.”

She walks out and closes the door behind her. I take a deep breath and sit on the edge of my bed. My heart is still hammering, a frantic rhythm that won’t settle. I clutch my fists into the heavy fabric of my dress, my knuckles turning white.

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I make this stop? The heat from his touch still feels like it is burned into my skin. This temptation is too much, and it is growing with every second I spend near him.

I quickly slide off the bed and drop to my knees. I clasp my hands together so tightly it hurts and I start to pray, desperate for the words to drown out the memory of his eyes.

The morning air is crisp, and I am already dressed and moving before the sun has fully cleared the horizon. As I walk toward the site, the fog is still clinging to the scaffolding. I see him immediately. Julian is already there, standing tall among the site workers, his head bent as he gives instructions.

He spots me and walks over, his stride confident. We exchange quiet, polite greetings, but the air between us feels heavy with the memory of yesterday.

Maya appears a moment later, sliding into the conversation with a bright smile. She introduces herself properly this time, her voice a little too high, her laughter a little too frequent. I watch the way she throws herself at him, making excuses to touch his arm or lean into his space. Julian is perfectly polite, but he remains distant with her. He doesn’t mirror her energy. Instead, his eyes keep drifting back to me. Every time I dare to glance his way, he is already looking, his dark gaze locked onto mine as if I am the only person on the site.

I feel the heat rising in my neck and turn to walk away, needing air, but Sister Kira’s voice stops me.

“Sister Clara, come here,” she calls out.

She is sitting at a makeshift table, but Julian is standing beside her, focused on a large blueprint. Kira begins to talk about my duties, telling me she wants me to sketch the student girls’ sports activities for the parish archives. I stand across from them and begin to describe how I will frame the movement, my hands gesturing as I speak.

As I talk, the world around me fades. I notice Julian isn’t looking at the blueprints anymore. He isn’t looking at Kira. He is staring at my lips.

I catch his gaze and my words die in my throat. He looks like he wants to take my soul right out of my body. There is a raw, primal hunger in his eyes, a look that suggests he isn’t just listening to me, he is starving for me.