Priest (Trident Agency #2)

2. Oliver

2

OLIVER

O liver was a polite person. He understood social niceties. It was one of the things that helped him survive when he was younger, and it was one of the things Poe was trying to cook out of him now. Well, mostly. Poe wanted him to stop being such a people-pleaser, and rightfully so.

And right then, he was the closest he’d ever been to cracking and giving someone a real piece of his mind. Priest, to be exact.

The Demon. The Liar.

I’ll see you soon, yeah?

Those had been Priest’s last words to him before doing the exact opposite. Oliver hadn’t seen him in weeks, and if it wasn’t for the news talking about the Trident Agency’s involvement with the Siren royal family, he would have assumed Priest was lying to get out of having the conversation Oliver was so desperate to have.

The truth was, Oliver wanted him. He understood the risks that came with falling for an Incubus Demon, but he didn’t care. Priest had been nothing but kind to him. He was what he was, but he was also an adorably awkward nerd who acted like he’d never learned how to flirt.

And Oliver was no fool. He knew there was danger lurking behind Priest’s gorgeous eyes. He knew what he went to Azriel’s club for, and the only thing Oliver wanted to do was offer himself. Not that he would, of course. Not without some kind of commitment.

Oliver had already grilled Azriel on whether or not it was safe to be with someone like Priest.

“Could he kill me?” Oliver had asked a few weeks after meeting the Demon.

Azriel rolled his eyes and muttered several words in a language Oliver didn’t understand before flashing teeth in a grimace trying to be a smile. “Yes, he could kill you. But he wouldn’t. That’s not his nature.”

“That’s not an Incubus’s nature?” Oliver asked, his entire body humming with skepticism.

Azriel laughed. “Oh, darling. No . An Incubus would definitely consume you until you were dead. But Priest wouldn’t. It’s not in his nature. He’s a bodyguard. A protector . His entire life is keeping little lost lambs like you safe.”

Oliver flipped him off and ignored it when Azriel laid an apologetic kiss on his cheek. “I don’t even know why I’m asking,” Oliver had said when Azriel pulled back. “It’s not like he’d want someone like me.”

Azriel looked at him, sighed, and shook his head. “Oh, honey,” he said in that devastating tone that cut right to the quick.

It was the last time Oliver had brought up the Demon with his Angel friend. Now, Poe had to suffer Oliver’s pining, which he complained loudly about but still sat through all of Oliver’s poetic ranting. Poe gave him shit but also told him to be patient.

“He’s probably not used to wanting a human for more than a midnight snack,” Poe had told him.

And he was probably right. Oliver knew that should scare him off, but instead, it just added to the intrigue. How would it work? How would it feel to let Priest feed off him? He groaned and opened his eyes to find a mug hovering over his face.

He jolted, then realized the mug was attached to the arm of his best friend. He sat up, carefully dodging Poe’s hand, and rubbed his face. “What are you doing?”

“Making you tea,” Poe said, waving the mug back and forth. “Here comes the train,” he singsonged. “Open up. Choo-choo!”

“I will hire the biggest Gargoyle I can find to sit on you,” Oliver growled.

Poe grinned over the rim of the mug. “Don’t promise me a good time. Now, drink your tea like a good boy. That or go jerk off, but I literally can’t take the pining or the pheromones, and since you won’t go ask Azriel where your stalker is…”

“He’s not my stalker,” Oliver said, standing up and brushing past his friend, heading into the kitchen. He opened up the fridge and got a bottle of Siren Water out. The damn stuff wasn’t great for humans, but by the gods, it was addictive.

Behind him, Poe snorted and set the tea down. “Yeah, he’s totally not a stalker. Never mind him randomly showing up at a grocery store where you happened to be shopping. Or the kebab place. Or the?—”

Oliver cleared his throat, cutting Poe off. “Correlation is not causation.”

“Oh, my love, that’s not what that phrase means.” Poe slung an arm around Oliver, jolting him hard enough that he choked on his swallow of water. “And denial is not really a cute look on you. I’m sorry he totally ditched you though.”

Oliver flinched, the words cutting deeper than Poe meant them to. He let out a bone-deep sigh and sank into one of their kitchen chairs, staring out the window. The apartment was above the shop, and it had an amazing view of the city. There was a little peekaboo strip of ocean on the horizon, and usually, Oliver could sit out on their tiny, one-chair terrace and feel at peace.

But not today.

“I just don’t get it, you know?” Oliver said as Poe hopped up on the counter and tapped a little pattern against the cabinet with his bare heels. “He flirts with me for weeks.”

“Months. Almost a damn year,” Poe pointed out.

Oliver rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t exactly argue with that. He just hadn’t noticed until both Poe and Azriel pointed it out. For far too long, Oliver thought he was just quietly pining and that Priest was just… nice. That was probably why he was a pathetic, single loner who hadn’t had a hookup, much less a boyfriend, in years.

“I know what you’re thinking, and stop,” Poe said. “You’re a catch, and he’s a Demon. If there’s anything defunct about this whole thing, it’s him.”

“That’s not very kind,” Oliver said quietly.

Poe shrugged, not looking sorry. “You’re sitting here alone on your one day off, sad because he strung you along and then ghosted you without a word.”

“He was working,” Oliver defended weakly. Working hadn’t stopped Priest before when he wanted to come to Azriel’s to feed, and he’d never failed to stop in at the shop. At least, not until now. But Azriel swore up and down he hadn’t heard from Priest since the last time he’d been in and then come over to the shop and nearly kissed Oliver, and he knew the Angel wouldn’t lie to him. Not about this.

Poe bit his lip, his expression torn, and then his shoulders sagged. “I just hate seeing you waste your time. You’re my brother, and I want you to be happy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Oliver told him gently, and that was true. He wanted to be in love. Meeting someone and having a life together had always been a goal of his. But it wasn’t something he needed to survive.

More than anyone, Oliver knew what unhappiness felt like. He’d grown up unloved, trapped in a family with a vendetta against every supernatural community. He’d spent his formative years surrounded by hateful bigotry and rhetoric, and none of it had ever made sense. Their views terrified him to the point that at sixteen, when he realized he would never be like them, he ran.

It was his only escape. If he’d stayed—if they’d found out about him—he wasn’t sure he’d ever see the light of day again. He’d heard rumors of other people in their little community, young like him with minds of their own, who went missing and never returned.

Oliver wasn’t going to let that happen to him.

Shortly after he’d run, he understood what being cold was like. And what hunger truly was. He learned how to pickpocket and shoplift to make it from one day to the next, hating himself a little more each day. There was little sanctuary for humans outside of his own borders, but just before his seventeenth birthday, Poe found him.

Oliver was huddled against the tide wall near the touristy beach in Midlona, trying to blend in. He’d bathed in the sea and was hoping he could just get a little peace—a little rest. Then Poe had stumbled into him, literally, and for whatever reason, he hadn’t left Oliver’s side again.

He dragged Oliver back to his house, where he had his first real meal and a shower in months. Poe’s mom put on a strong face, but he could see the anger in her eyes, and he thought maybe he was all wrong here too. But when he offered to leave, she just put her arms around him and told him he’d always have a place to land if he ever fell.

Then she asked him not to go.

Oliver hadn’t realized what it was like to be loved—truly loved—until that moment. He watched Poe’s family dynamic, and he realized he fit. There was no hatred or bigotry at the dinner table. Poe’s parents were both activists working in Midlona and the surrounding kingdoms, frustrated at their lack of progress but never losing hope.

And Oliver knew he was home.

He and Poe had settled into their life, running the bookshop and sharing their tiny apartment. He could never, ever call this miserable, even if his heart was aching now. Even if he still believed he was the one who was all wrong somehow.

“Seriously, drink some tea,” Poe said, dragging Oliver out of his thoughts.

Oliver blinked, then shook his head. “I don’t want tea. I want to get laid.”

“You literally have a Guardian Angel who owns a strip club and has fucked half of Midlona,” Poe told him dryly. “If you want to get laid, I can help you with that. Or hell, you can go next door and pick up one of the Angel’s patrons.”

Oliver flushed, but he didn’t bother telling Poe that he didn’t want to be fucked by just anyone. He wanted to be ravaged by an awkward Incubus, and that was apparently not going to happen anytime soon.

Or ever.

“Am I hideous?” he asked.

“You know you’re not. If it didn’t feel like weird incest, I’d totally be into you,” Poe told him.

Oliver shuddered at the thought. “Thanks, I think?”

Poe tapped his chin. “I bet Azriel would be really good in bed. I mean, I’ve thought about it once or twice. He probably has moves that are illegal in half the kingdoms on the continent.”

And then he shivered and bit his lip.

Oliver gaped at him. “Stop talking for at least one hour. I’ve had enough of your mouth for now.”

Poe laughed and hopped off the counter. “I’m gonna go shower and jerk off. Go visit your friend unless you want to listen in.”

That was enough to get Oliver up off his ass and out the door. He loved sharing a place with his best friend, but sometimes, he also really hated it.

Sitting in the club, Oliver felt a little pathetic. The Pearly Gates was usually always busy no matter what time of day, but today, there was a noticeable lull in business now that the sun had set. There were a couple of dancers on the side stages, but the main stage was dark, the curtain drawn, and Oliver was the only one sitting at the bar.

“Does it seem weirdly dead in here today?”

“There’s nothing weird about it,” Azriel said. His voice sounded harsh and cold, which was completely unlike him. He never talked to Oliver like that. “You haven’t seen the news?”

Something ran up Oliver’s spine. He’d been feeling odd all day long, and he just figured it was melancholy over Priest. But maybe it wasn’t. Oliver had always had an almost sixth sense when something was about to go wrong or when someone he loved was hurt. Some of the time, he was right, but sometimes, he was also just being paranoid out of fear of losing the only people who cared about him.

He’d learned to ignore it unless the feeling was pressing, and today had been nothing more than a dull hum.

Azriel snapped his fingers, and a TV Oliver had never noticed on the wall above the rows of bottles turned on. There was a reporter talking about the arrest of a human senator, and then he started paying attention. The sound was off, but the slow-moving captions told the story of what really went on.

The Trident Agency had just uncovered a plot against the Siren royal family. The crown prince and the young prince and princess had been taken by an unnamed anti-Supe organization, and several members of the notorious Alpha Team were instrumental in bringing them home.

Now, fingers were being pointed at one of the human governments, though the news didn’t name who had done it or why.

Oliver felt bile rising in his throat. He did his best not to think about where he’d come from, but that wasn’t easy when he knew far too many people who would applaud something like this. The feeling along his spine got worse.

And then it exploded when the camera panned over, and he got his first glimpse of Priest in weeks. His heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat.

“I hate this.”

Azriel stared at him for a long time, an expression on his face Oliver couldn’t read. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Oliver lied.

Azriel leaned forward and captured his gaze. Oliver had seen this move before. Usually, the person cracked open like a damn walnut and spilled their guts, but Azriel rarely used his power on Oliver for that. “Talk to me.”

“I really don’t want to.”

The strange look on Azriel’s face deepened, and then he sighed and leaned back. “Is this about Priest?”

“Is there, like, a group chat with all of you who want to talk about my pathetic crush?” Oliver groaned.

Azriel laughed. “Let me guess… Poe?”

“He thinks I’m pining.”

Azriel’s smile widened. “Oh, honey. You are pining. It’s really quite disgusting and it totally throws off the vibe in here. The only reason I don’t mind is because everyone’s at home shaking in their panties, and there’s no one left to entertain me.”

Oliver frowned at him. “You’re not going to take all of that seriously? You know they’d come after you too. Angels aren’t exempt.”

“I’ve never taken anything seriously in my whole existence, and I’m not about to start now,” Azriel said with a wink. He grabbed one of his spice cigarettes from his silver case, blew on the tip, and Oliver sucked in a breath when it lit. Azriel drew in a deep lungful, then let it out with a happy sigh. “Anyway, this whole thing with Priest is not one-sided, okay? So quit worrying.”

“I’m not. And yes it is. The last time I saw him, I swear he was going to kiss me. I was laying it on as thick as I could, but he panicked and ran.”

“Yeah, that’s a him problem, not a you problem. Trust me,” Azriel said, patting Oliver’s hand.

Oliver licked his lips, then repeated his question to Poe earlier. “Am I hideous?”

“You’re gorgeous. I’d put you up on that main stage if I could, babe. But dancing isn’t the life for you.”

Oliver flushed. It hadn’t exactly been a fantasy of his to get dressed up, throw on some glitter and lipstick, and dance for a crowd. But it wasn’t not a fantasy for doing that privately for one man. Or Demon, as it were. But he’d made a go-go dance joke the night Priest panicked and left, so maybe that wouldn’t be appreciated.

Letting out a small sigh, Oliver turned his attention back to Azriel, but suddenly, he got a chill up his spine too intense to ignore. He’d felt things like this before, usually before some disaster struck. Half the time, it was some angry customer, and the other half, it was Poe picking drunk fights with people.

But this was something else. Something new. Poe was in trouble. No, it was more than that. A vision of Poe’s bloody, lifeless body filled his head, and his chest felt like it was cracking in half.

He jumped off his stool. “Something’s wrong.” His voice was trembling, and he realized he couldn’t just stand there. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew his best friend was in trouble, and he would be damned if he didn’t save him.

“Oliver!” Azriel called, but Oliver was running for the door.

He burst out into the street, then started for the shop. There was a van nearby looking odd, though he didn’t know why, but when he locked gazes with the driver, the feeling in his gut only got worse. Poe was in danger. Something was very wrong.

He was steps from the side of their building when he first heard the rumble, and then—between one breath and the next—there was heat.

And then there was pain.

He was falling through the air. His skin was burning, and he knew he was seconds from hitting the ground, and when he did, it would all be over.

And finally, just before his body shattered apart, there was blessed darkness.