Although Ysabelle was worried sick about Father Marcus’ welfare, she was still able to doze off the moment she hit her bed. Fatigue and exhaustion is always the drawback of having to chaperone her niece and take pictures of the class tour all day long, and sleeping is always the best cure of it, especially when it is uninterrupted the whole night. Ysabelle was hoping to experience that, but her uninvited visitor had other plans.
The bedroom door opened and closed without making a sound. No footsteps were heard too as the room’s carpet muffled it. But Marcus was present and was inching his way closer to the sleeping woman.
Her face and chest was gently illuminated by the moon’s light passing through the half open window. A bed sheet covered her warmly, but under it she was wearing a loose-fitting, cropped tank top and a flimsy sleep short — the most comfortable sleeping garments she had ever worn. Gone were the thick, uncomfortable skirts, the itchy wool fabrics, the rough cotton and the impractical animal cloth she had used over the thousands of years she had lived. If there was one thing that she was happy about during the world’s changes, it was the fashion sense of its people. A change that she had welcomed almost without question.
Gorgeous was the fall of her hair on the pillow. The plumpness of her lips, the rosy blush of her cheeks and the thick drape of her eyelashes added to the breathtaking sight. Marcus —or the entity controlling his body —produced a pleased grin.
H removed an obstructing pillow and seated slowly at the edge of the mattress, in Ysabelle’s right side so that he could see well how her cleavage was exposed nicely. A little more lower than what it was, her pink nipples would have been exposed.
Staring at her sleeping form, H acknowledged that she was a beautiful sight to behold. No wonder the brotherhood had appointed notable families to protect her, to keep her untouched since they found out she was an immortal. No wonder André Rogratiatto fell in love with her and volunteered himself to be the sacrifice. No wonder Marcus was the same, but H had felt another different kind of connection between the two the moment he infused himself inside the priest’s body. Some kind of connection bordering more than any human emotion itself. This — he did not understand what.