Priest (Trident Agency #2)

3. Priest

3

PRIEST

H e woke up with a gasp, bile in his throat, his heart racing so hard for a moment he thought maybe he was dying. Rolling onto his side, he groped for the little trash can he kept near his bed and unleashed a torrent of bitterness. His stomach ached, and his heart began to stabilize, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

And not just a little wrong.

Priest was a Demon. An Incubus. He sure as the nine hells was not clairvoyant, and he’d never had a premonition in his life. But somehow, he knew that shit had just hit the fan. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he scrubbed at his face and made his way into the living room. He could hear a low murmur, and he immediately recognized Knight, who appeared a second later, his brow furrowed.

“Mm. Okay. And he’s—yeah. You and I both know he’s going to lose his fucking shit.”

“Who is that?” Priest demanded.

Knight waved him off, turning his back. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I? He’s going to find out on the goddamn news if?—”

Priest didn’t usually move faster than human speed, but this time, he was at Knight’s throat in the blink of an eye, grabbing him by the collar, careful to avoid actually touching him. He ripped the phone out of Knight’s hand and pressed it to his ear. “Who the fuck is this, and what the fuck happened?”

“Well, hello to you too, my darling.” Azriel.

Priest’s heart sank to his feet. He knew. Fuck—he didn’t know how, but he knew. “Is it Oliver?”

Azriel sighed. “Before you panic and do something we both know you’ll regret, know that he’s alive.”

Priest felt relief knock into him like a damn freight train, and it was only his grip on Knight’s shirt that kept him upright. “Okay, so what happened?” It became very clear in Azriel’s beat of silence that he had said Oliver was alive, not that he was fine.

That was a big distinction.

“Azriel! What fucking happened?”

“There was an attack.” Azriel sounded pissed, but not at him. “The cops are here, but they’re so absolutely useless. I got a call from the head of your adorable backups—I mean, Bravo Team—who told me to let you know they were standing by when you got here. I’m assuming this is because your fearless leader is unreachable while his dick is stuck in his cute little prince’s ass?—”

“Enough,” Priest said tiredly. He was in no mood for Azriel’s bullshit. “How alive is he? I mean… how hurt? How?—”

“He’s breathing, and he’s not going to die. I was right behind him, so I was able to shield him from a lot of the blast, but his bookshop is gone, and so is a good chunk of their neighbor’s living room wall.”

Priest let out a sound of grief he didn’t know he was capable of making. Oliver loved that place. They could rebuild, but fuck, it wouldn’t be the same. Taking a breath, he listened to the sound of Azriel on the line, and he realized there was more. There was something worse than the shop. “What aren’t you telling me.”

He loosened his grip on Knight, who took a very grateful step back and wrapped his arms around his middle. Their gazes connected. Knight knew.

“They haven’t found a body,” Azriel said very slowly, “but they’re pretty sure that Poe didn’t make it.”

Priest’s ears began to ring. He knew Poe. He liked Poe. He was a lot like Az but less obnoxious, and from the bits and pieces he’d overheard about their lives, Poe had saved Oliver after he’d run from his heinous, bigoted family. He’d picked Oliver up off the streets, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

If Poe was gone—if he was actually gone—Oliver would never recover.

Priest didn’t fight when Knight took the phone back. He backed up, sinking down on the end of his bed as Knight finished the call. Oliver was hurt. The shop was destroyed. Poe was likely dead. And someone had done this deliberately because there was no way the shop had blown up by accident. This wasn’t some gas leak or wrath of the gods.

Someone had targeted them.

But why?

“We have a flight,” Knight said as he walked back into the room. His hands were trembling a little, and Priest knew that was his fault. He’d gotten too close.

Knight was okay with touching them sometimes, but it had to be on his terms.

“I’m sorry,” Priest whispered.

Knight shook his head and sat, a larger-than-normal space left between them. His dark brown hair was starting to look a little too long on top, nearly falling in his eyes, and his five-o’clock shadow was beginning to become more of a beard than just stubble. Protecting the Siren royals had taken a lot out of all of them.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Priest told him, not even pretending not to know what he was talking about. He pressed his hands to his face and let out a trembling breath. “I woke up, and I felt… something. Like I could sense something was very wrong. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s never happened to me before.”

When he dropped his hands, he saw Knight’s brow was furrowed.

“You’re starving.”

“I’m not starving,” he started to argue, but Knight held up a hand.

“You’re weaker, and you’re sleeping too much. You never nap, but you’ve been out cold in here for nearly two hours.” Knight ran his fingers over his pursed lips. “You just fed a couple of days ago. Something’s going on with you.”

He hadn’t, actually. He hadn’t fed in far too long. But the very idea of feeding on someone who wasn’t a bespectacled bookworm had begun to repulse him so much he hadn’t been able to go through with any of his attempts.

Priest knew what was happening—the first signs of lacking a feeding partner who could satisfy him were starting to take a toll on him. Luckily for him, it could last years and years before he got to the point he wasn’t able to function. And a few years after that before he went mad and began to kill.

“Seriously, I’m fine. My hunger has nothing to do with Oliver.”

Knight’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t say it did.”

“Can you just…” Priest groaned. “Do you know what the fuck is going on? Who would bother targeting a human bookshop? This can’t be related to the thing with the Sirens, can it?”

“No one’s sure right now. I’ve been on the phone since this whole thing went down. Storm got an unsubstantiated threat report a couple of days ago, but we thought it was just people still stirred up and venting about McCornal and his kid. People say all kinds of shit online, and there wasn’t a specific target or upcoming incident mentioned, so it went in the pile.”

Priest bared his teeth in a furious grimace. “Sunshine is going to kick both your asses for not sharing that, you know.”

“Maybe.” Knight’s lip curled back in distaste, his canines pointed and deadly even while his friend was completely in control of his Vampire. “But we’ve been getting dozens of reports like that from the analysts since news broke about the princes and princess getting rescued, and most of them haven’t turned into anything we can actually investigate or even hand off to local law enforcement. Just whispers of anger and larger-than-normal piles of bullshit being spewed in hate groups.”

“Except there’s obviously more going on. Something like this? It doesn’t come out of nowhere.”

Knight’s eyes went red. “No. There have been a few instances in the last few weeks of people going missing.” His gaze turned distant. “Humans. Not enough in a single place to draw most people’s attention, but…”

Priest sat up. “But our analysts aren’t most people. They caught it, and you think this is connected.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if—whatever the fuck this is—it’s an escalation. I think McCornal and his piece-of-shit son were just the beginning of a new, bigger problem. Something unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

There was a note of a lie in his voice, and Priest played the words back in his head before realizing what it was. People going missing. Anti-Supe hatred.

“The labs,” Priest murmured, staring at his friend’s profile. Mentioning the worst thing to ever happen to Knight wasn’t something he did very often—and Knight never talked about it willingly—but the dots were connecting and leading him to one place.

Knight stiffened and swallowed heavily, pushing to his feet and keeping his back to Priest. The scent of his anguish stung his nose, riling his Demon, who was just as protective of the Vampire as Priest was. “We shouldn’t assume. Not yet. But I’ll fill Sunshine in on the plane and, if you’re in agreement, have him order the other two teams to be on standby. Since most of Bravo Team is already there, we’ll have them create a perimeter around Azriel’s, but the Alphas will be in charge.”

Priest felt an almost violent wave of relief. He needed to see Oliver. To touch him. To breathe in his scent. He needed to be there when he opened his eyes so he could be sure that he was as okay as he could be. And he needed to find who’d hurt him and make them hurt a hundred times worse.

And considering the potential magnitude of what Knight was hinting at, they were looking at a possible war on their hands. Were they ready for that?

He almost broke a rib trying to hold in his laugh. They’d be completely and utterly fucked.

“When do we leave?” They had returned to HQ about a week ago, the high-security building sitting right on the border between the Siren’s kingdom, Midlona, and the Gargoyle’s, Averna. There were few others in the area, most clustering around the castles their royals lived in, but Jeremiah and his new princely mate were in a cozy—and private—little house nearby.

The bookshop was on the edge of the Midlona city in a slightly seedier area than Priest would have liked—or it had been.

“As soon as your go bag is packed,” Knight said.

Luckily, Priest was nothing if not prepared.

The rooms he stayed in at HQ weren’t really home to him, and he always kept his bag ready. Snagging his duffel from the closet, he pulled out his phone. He didn’t give a shit that he was in running pants and a tattered T-shirt. The only thing that mattered was getting to Oliver as quickly as he could.

As they headed out to the elevator, Knight texting their new pilot to let him know they were on their way, Priest called the only person who could help him get through the next few days.

When his best friend answered, he didn’t give him a chance to speak. “I need you. Something happened.”

The flight was short, but it felt eternal, and Knight threatened to pin him and drain him if he didn’t stop pacing. Priest flopped on his back over two seats in their new jet—a thank-you gift from the king and queen of Midlona—and started counting divots in the plane ceiling. Loudly.

Jeremiah was on his phone in the last row, Remi curled up against his side. The waves of worry mixed with lust coming off the prince were driving Priest’s Demon to distraction, which added to his inability to settle.

Knight gave him a flat look, then slipped noise-canceling headphones over his ears—the good ones he’d bought after he and Priest had experienced a particularly hellish stakeout together a year or so ago—and Priest flipped him off before turning his face toward the windows, not really seeing anything beyond the glass.

He couldn’t stop shaking on the descent, and by the time they landed, he was all but crawling out of his skin.

Jeremiah squeezed his shoulder on his way past, telling him and Knight he’d call when he knew something, and then jumped in a vehicle with Remi and the head of the Bravo Team.

Knight didn’t put up any kind of fight when Priest snagged the keys to their waiting SUV and quickly climbed in after him. Priest drove the way to Azriel’s on pure muscle memory, pulling around the back of the club, and he was unsurprised to find the Angel sitting outside waiting for them.

Az looked the same as he always did—shirtless, artfully torn jeans, his hair still hanging in his face. But there were dark circles under his eyes Priest was unused to seeing, which he knew wasn’t from lack of sleep but from a power drain. It meant he’d gone above and beyond to heal Oliver… which meant his injuries had probably been worse than he’d admitted over the phone.

The scent of smoke and charred wood filled the air, and he could see the blackened outline of what used to be a corner of the bookstore. The sight nearly brought him to his knees, making the whole thing so much more real. Turning his fear and anger on the only outlet he had was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He slammed the SUV door shut and rushed Azriel, ripping his spiced cigarette from his mouth and flinging it away. “How bad was it? How could he have survived that? There are char marks on your fucking club!”

Azriel followed the trajectory of his blunt, a small frown on his inhumanly pretty face. “Your little pet will be fine.”

Priest’s hands curled into fists. “Call him that one more time. See what happens.”

Smiling, Azriel shook his head, clapping his hand against the side of Priest’s neck and pulling him close so their foreheads touched. There was an instinctive twitch under his skin, his Demon repelled on a cellular level by an Angel touching him, but he shook it off and allowed the soothing scent and heat of his friend to ease his anxiety.

“He’s alive. He hasn’t woken up yet, and I’m not sure when he will, but he’s not dying.”

When he will, yes, or if he will, but Priest refused to acknowledge those unspoken words.

“How bad are his injuries? Are they permanent?” Priest whispered hoarsely.

At that, Azriel pulled back and glanced away. “I don’t know yet. I’ve given him everything I’ve got. And before you make a complete fucking ass of yourself, you might want to feed. I can smell your hunger, babes.”

Priest shoved Azriel away from him and marched for the door. “He’s upstairs, right?”

The Angel lived on the third floor, above the rooms where people usually went for the more… indiscreet services the club offered. It wasn’t often anyone was invited all the way to the top floor, but Priest knew that Azriel wasn’t going to stop him.

He didn’t wait for an answer, and he took the stairs three at a time before pressing his hand to the lock and willing it open. What should have been little more than a parlor trick left him staggering against the door for a moment. The drain on his power was worse than it had ever been before. His legs felt heavy, and he knew Azriel was probably right. He should feed. But the very idea of taking anything from anyone in that club who wasn’t Oliver felt…

There weren’t really words, but betrayal was the only thing that came close.

He took a breath, scenting his human behind Azriel’s apartment door, and he was relieved when the knob turned, worried his surge of power hadn’t actually been enough to get the job done. Just as he pushed inside, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then Azriel and Knight were at his side.

“You need to calm down. You’re going to cause an orgy downstairs,” Azriel murmured. “And I don’t have the staff on hand to deal with that—no matter how good of a time it would be.”

Priest looked down and caught the outline of Azriel’s rather impressively large cock pressing against his jeans, and he flushed with embarrassment. He hadn’t lost control of himself like that since he was young and untethered to his best friends. He took a breath as Azriel brushed a hand against the small of his back and ushered him inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to feed?”

Priest shook his head. “I’d love a drink though. And to see Oliver.”

“Let him rest,” Knight rumbled as he breezed past them both, his phone in his hand. “Sunshine’s calling. He’s probably got an update.”

Priest was struggling to give a shit about the rest of the world. Knight stepped out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind him but keeping his attention on Priest.

He ignored his friend, gaze tracking Az where he was rummaging around his small kitchen. The Angel let out a quiet “ aha ” when he pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer.

The bottle was frosty by design, which meant it was something Angel made. And that meant it was going to be very good and very strong. Exactly what he needed. Azriel, being as extra as he was, pulled out two massive spheres of ice and settled them in short glasses, letting the vodka rain over them.

He took out a little dish of lime slices from his nearly empty fridge, and he squeezed one over the top, then ran it over the rim before finally handing it over. Priest took down half the glass without even tasting it, ignoring the pointed look Azriel was giving him.

“Tell me everything,” he finally said as his throat ached in the best way, a wonderful numbness settling over his extremities.

Azriel picked up his own glass, then hopped up on his kitchen counter and crossed his legs. He tapped his bare foot against the edge of the sink as he let his head fall back to rest against the fridge. “I should have felt it. Things were weird, but shit was getting weird everywhere. The bar was really dead.”

That was bizarre. The Pearly Gates was the house of scandal in more ways than one. Royal families and politicians alike bought VIP rooms and engaged in all manner of speakable and unspeakable things. And, so long as they paid and all parties consented, Azriel and his entire crew kept their mouths shut. Because of that, no matter what the economy was like, the place was always booming.

“Oliver pointed it out. He came by to vent. Poe was giving him shit about you.”

Priest felt a strange, unfamiliar emotion in his chest. Was it grief? Or humiliation because he was the one leading Oliver on only to pull back.

“What next?” he demanded. He needed to focus. He wouldn’t let what had almost happened between them happen again. He couldn’t. But he needed to know everything, and he needed to make sure Oliver was safe. That he could fully heal, even if he’d never get over the loss of his best friend.

Azriel scrunched up his face. “He just kind of… lost it. He ran out of the club like a Dragon hatchling out of the nest. That’s when I felt something was wrong. I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never experienced anything so intense. It was this feeling that went deeper in my gut. Like I just knew something was about to happen, you know?”

Priest did know. He didn’t get the feeling often—and nothing like what had awoken him earlier—but when he was close to danger, there was a sort of buzzing under his skin. It was most likely different for Angels, but Demons were the other side of the same coin, so it was probably at least similar, if not from the same source.

“I was too far behind him,” Azriel said, his voice a little choked. “The blast caught him before I could. I was able to shield him from the worst of it, but…” He closed his eyes and drained half his glass. “Some fucking Guardian Angel I turned out to be, hm?”

“That wasn’t your job.” It was mine . “You did what you could. You saved his life.”

“I should have been faster, but I was distracted,” Azriel spat, setting aside his glass and scrubbing at his face. “He’s such a stubborn little shit though. He wouldn’t listen. He started running before I’d even picked up on the danger, and he was so far ahead of me when the blast went off.”

Priest couldn’t help his smile, even though it hurt. He tipped back the rest of his drink, then set it on the table. “And then you brought him here, yeah?”

Azriel nodded. “Seemed the safest place for him. No one can break in if I don’t want them to.”

“And you didn’t see anything suspicious in the street?”

“Not really, no.” He could tell Azriel was holding something back, but there would be time to grill him later. “I didn’t really have time to investigate. I brought him up here as quickly as I could. He was going to die if I didn’t act fast, and I wasn’t sure how much I could heal. Like I said, I gave him everything I had. He’s probably going to be in a world of pain if he wakes up.”

His heart constricted. If . He’d finally said the quiet part out loud.

“ When ,” Priest whispered.

Azriel met his gaze, his eyes glowing heavenly blue. “He’s only human.”

Only . As if Oliver was only anything.

“He’s mine,” he snarled, then snapped his jaws shut. He shouldn’t have said that because it couldn’t be true, but he wasn’t going to take the words back. “Where is he?”

Azriel hesitated for only a second before jerking his chin toward the closed door on the other side of the open-plan apartment. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he warned.

There wasn’t anything Priest could do. He wasn’t a healer. His nature was to take—to feed, to bend others and objects to his will. All he could do was stand there and hope like some kind of useless fool.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t do at least that.

It was dark inside the room, the shades drawn, but Priest could smell blood, soot, and charred skin. And he could smell fear. And pain. His chest ached as he approached the bed and fell to his knees. Oliver was lying beneath a thin sheet, and his face was mottled with bruising, his lip fat, his right eye still blackened.

There were no burn marks, but they were likely the first things Azriel had managed to heal, and that was at least something.

But hells’ bells, if this was how he looked after draining an Angel, Priest could only imagine what he’d looked like before. It was a miracle he hadn’t died. Literally. He felt an aching sense of regret crawling up the back of his throat like bitter bile.

The last time he’d seen Oliver, he’d tried to kiss him. And by the gods, what Priest wouldn’t give to go back to that moment. He should have let him. He should have said fuck it and given in because he was terrified now he might not get the chance.

He knew there was more to focus on than a single injured human, but Priest had no idea how to explain to anyone why it felt like Oliver’s pain seemed like the end of the world.

The human let out a groan, and Priest’s heart began to hammer in his chest. “Come on,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

He felt something in his chest—like tendrils of a thread—reaching for Oliver. It was strange, but he couldn’t focus on that now. He was probably just losing it a bit more to his hunger.

Maybe the others were right to be worried about him.

His hand crept across the sheets, taking Oliver’s battered one into his light grasp. “Come on, sweetheart. Please.”

Oliver’s fingers twitched against his palm.

“Wake up,” Priest begged, tightening his grip. His whole chest seemed to be reaching for the human’s soft, warm, glowing soul. “ Wake up .”

It felt like the world stopped turning.

And then Oliver opened his eyes.