Priest (Trident Agency #2)

5. Priest

5

PRIEST

“S

o,” Azriel said, folding his hands under his chin.

“Eat shit and die,” Priest muttered without feeling.

“That is so not nice to say to the Angel that saved your precious human.” Azriel leaned back on the barstool, kicking his feet up on another one. The club was closed, which was a bizarre feeling being in there without the pulse of booze and sex floating around him. It was a terrible way for Priest to realize how hungry he was.

And that was the reason why he hadn’t gone back upstairs.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to chase off his irritation, but it was next to impossible with his hunger clawing at his insides. He was not far from begging Azriel to bring in one of the dancers so he could feed enough that he could stand Oliver’s smell without jumping him. He shouldn’t have let it get this bad. If he couldn’t handle feeding in person, he should have slipped into a dream of one of his regulars and siphoned off enough to hold him over.

But it hadn’t felt right . And now, he was fucked.

“Have a drink,” Azriel said after a beat. When Priest didn’t move, he sighed and stood, propping his ass on the bar and spinning around. He dropped to the floor, and Priest couldn’t help but watch him.

He was literal grace, the way he moved. His feet were light, like his wings were carrying him, though Priest knew that wasn’t the case. Not for this Angel. Still, he was ethereal, and being around him sometimes made Priest feel every bit the Demon humans thought he was.

Well, most humans.

Never Oliver.

His chest burned with the need to run upstairs and cradle Oliver close to his body. He was still healing though, and Priest’s presence wasn’t going to do him any favors. Whatever Azriel had done to save Oliver’s life made it impossible for Priest to use his Demonic abilities to try and heal him further. He was basically shrouded in Angelic magic for the time being, and that didn’t mix with his own. So he was starving, feeling useless, but unable to leave the premises while Oliver was unconscious and helpless upstairs.

He startled in his seat when a glass appeared in front of him, and he stared down at it. It was pale, opaque, and kind of glittery.

“The hell is this?”

“Just drink it. You’ll thank me later,” Azriel said.

Priest did trust his friend, so he tipped back a long swallow, and while he was expecting to taste something like pine or almonds—his least two favorite things; they were equally terrible—instead, it tasted a little floral and barely sweet.

And suddenly, his hunger abated.

“It won’t help long term,” Azriel said before Priest could get any ideas. “But it’ll take the edge off for a while. There’s just a small caveat.”

Priest sighed. “It’s going to make me ravenous when it wears off, isn’t it?”

Azriel grimaced. “There’s always a price when it comes to the Fae.”

“Oh, fuck you, man. I don’t want Fae shit in my body.” He spat, but it was no use. He was already craving more. The Fae rarely interacted with anyone at all in their world, almost all of them having crossed over through their portals eons ago, but their influence still trickled in from time to time.

“The detox isn’t hellish. You’ll just need to increase your feed and probably sleep for a good few hours,” Azriel said.

“Like I have time for sleep,” Priest grumbled. He jolted when Azriel’s warm fingers closed over his own, but he refused to look up.

“Claude.”

“Don’t,” he growled, tensing all over, “call me that.”

The name always felt like mockery—posh and distinguished. Everything he would never be. His name now, the one he embraced, had come because he’d been found in a human church, aching all over, curled into himself under a long stretch of empty pews.

When he was younger, he found it hilarious. Now, he just ached for that small child who’d wanted nothing more than to be protected.

“I think your name is beautiful,” Azriel said softly, refusing to let him go.

Priest hated how comforting the touch of an Angel could be—and he hated that he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “You think everything’s beautiful.”

Azriel laughed. “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m here running this club. That’s why I left…”

Heaven . None of them knew exactly what had driven Azriel out of the Angelic Kingdom, but Priest had gotten enough hints and clues over the years to be pretty sure it hadn’t been a flippant choice. Or one that had been accepted by the rest of the Host.

It might not have been a choice at all.

Priest understood more than most. He knew what the other Incubi thought of him—fighting his hunger day in and day out, choosing to live as his own man—but like Azriel, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He’d die in the throes of madness before he gave himself to the control of corrupt leaders that did little more than whisper pretty lies.

“I need you to tell me he’s going to be okay,” Priest said after finishing the last of his drink.

Azriel drew his touch away, and Priest took a few deep breaths, weak with relief when the Fae magic began to work immediately, edging down his ravenous hunger to a tolerable background noise.

“He’s going to be okay for now, but I’m worried that won’t last.”

“And you should be,” came a growly voice from the doorway.

His chest pulsed with happiness as Jeremiah strode into the room, the scent of smoke and anger thick in the air around him. Priest was on his feet, flinging himself at his best friend before he could think twice. He’d been with Knight for far too long and was starved for physical affection and reassurance. Not having the Hellhound there next to him as he’d seen Oliver’s bruised and battered body had made everything harder. No one leveled him out like Jeremiah.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremiah said, gently petting his hair before shoving him off. “Such a demonic octopus.”

Priest grinned good-naturedly, then grimaced, his Demon rippling under his skin. “Oh dear gods, you smell like Siren come.”

Jeremiah flushed. Hard. “Watch it. I’ll burn you to a crisp.”

“You’d miss me too much,” Priest declared. He was halfway over to the bar before he really processed what Jeremiah had said before. “Hold the fuck up. What do you mean we should be ?”

Jeremiah sighed as he sat, rubbing a hand down his face. Being mated suited him, but he’d also been on edge since their rescue of Remi and his siblings, worried something else would pop up to try and take Remi away from him. Priest was pretty sure the terror of almost losing his fated mate had taken a few decades off the Hellhound’s life.

“Knight filled me in on the reported threats and disappearances, and I assigned Charlie Team to dig into them. But after tonight…” He exchanged a glance with Azriel that Priest didn’t like one bit. “We now know what to look for in the threats. Certain phrases and words. Particular targets.”

Priest had assumed the bookstore was related, but hearing Jeremiah agree rose the hairs on the back of his neck. Oliver and Poe had been targeted because of their proximity to him . Because Priest hadn’t been able to stop himself from fixating on the sexy human.

How could Oliver ever forgive him?

“Why are they taking humans?” Priest asked absently, eyes turning upward, even though he couldn’t see Oliver’s slumbering body. “McCornal’s kid targeted Supes. Royals at that.”

“Half Supes,” Azriel corrected, pouring himself a large glass of liquor. “And half human.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Considering how half-cocked most of those attempts were, I doubt daddy dearest was looped in on everything Thad was doing. He just took his cues from the hatred McCornal spewed and focused them on the one person he knew and could get to.”

“And used his dad’s name and resources to recruit others to help.”

Azriel threw back half his drink. “Lovely people all around.”

Jeremiah side-eyed the Angel before focusing on Priest. “There’s clearly a connection between what happened today and McCornal’s bullshit. Not to mention…”

Priest understood what he wasn’t saying. What Knight had endured was likely part of it. That was something they’d always kept at the back of their minds. The few details Knight had shared—or maybe he couldn’t remember most of what happened—always made them believe there was something bigger behind it. Definitely bigger than infecting one random person with Vampirism and then seemingly letting him go.

Knight had survived, but none of them had believed it was over.

“What do we do?” Priest asked.

Jeremiah looked torn. “For now, I think you need to take Oliver somewhere safe. He’s clearly a target, and being here isn’t going to help. Azriel’s drained for now, and I don’t have the resources to create stronger wards.”

Priest barked a laugh. “Where the fuck do you suggest I take him? Headquarters? Everyone will be looking for him there, and he can’t be left alone in a safe hou?—”

Jeremiah lifted both brows.

“No,” Priest said. “No. Fuck no, even. A great big, grand, shining, sparkly hell no?—”

“Why not?” Jeremiah said, cutting him off.

Priest threw up his hands. “Because I… He’s… I’m… If he’s there, and my things… and his scent, and…”

“He’s in love,” Azriel said loudly from behind his glass.

Priest narrowed his eyes at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Please. Everyone knows. You’re not exactly Captain Subtle.”

Jeremiah looked thoughtful. “Give me one good reason why.”

Priest felt himself crack and then shatter. “I can’t control it. I’ll feed on him and drain him, and I’d rather fucking die, okay? I’m starving, and it’s getting harder to stay satisfied.”

The words hung in the air around them for a long moment, Jeremiah studying him, but Priest couldn’t meet his eyes. Laying his shame and failure out for the man he respected more than any other to see was slowly killing him.

“Priest…”

He flinched at the growly understanding in his voice. He didn’t want his best friend’s fucking pity. They just needed to understand why Priest couldn’t be alone with Oliver in his house.

Jeremiah looked at Azriel, his expression helpless in a way that sliced through Priest’s chest, and the Angel sighed and reached behind the bar, producing a small frosted glass bottle adorned in a way Priest had rarely ever seen.

“You can’t use it forever, but you can use it long enough for Oliver to heal. Then you will have to feed. And I mean far more than what you’ve been taking,” Azriel warned, his voice a low rumble.

Priest wanted to say no, and all the gods save him, he wanted to say yes because he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance like this again. He was smitten with the human, and he doubted he’d ever feel this way about another creature ever again. If he was capable of being lucky enough to have a fated mate, Oliver would be his.

He had no idea how he knew that—he just did.

His hand crept across the bar, and very carefully, very slowly, he curled his fingers around the neck. It was cool to the touch, and his body hummed for more of what he’d just consumed. “How long will it take me to detox?”

“If you feed sufficiently,” Azriel said, “a matter of hours.”

And if he didn’t, well…

“Get him a sedative for the drive,” Priest said. “And safe transport.”

“I’ve got Slate on it,” Jeremiah said. “And I’ve got two of the guys from Bravo working on your townhouse now.”

Priest turned his gaze up to the ceiling and wished he could see through the walls. But somehow, he knew Oliver was still sleeping, still healing. And he could only hope the drink was enough to get him through until Oliver was well enough to protect himself.

Then, Priest would deal with the consequences of his choices alone.

As he was always meant to do.

Oliver was half-sedated when he agreed to the trip, and luckily, Priest had a town house not too far from the border, so the drive was less than an hour. Priest lived in a gated community that had official royal protection, but he wasn’t there often since it was more convenient during certain cases and missions to stay at HQ. He and Storm both tended to stay there, but Jeremiah had always preferred his own space—and now, his cozy little house he shared with the prince—and Knight started getting fangy if he didn’t get enough alone time to decompress.

Plus, it’d be hard for him to take care of his damn moths if he was staying in a skyscraper.

Slate had… family obligations that made it more convenient for him to stay in Averna most of the time.

He pulled his bulletproof SUV into his garage, watching until the door was fully closed behind him before getting out and retrieving Oliver from the back seat.

The place was dark and a little musty from the infrequent cleaning service, but Slate had arranged for a delivery of supplies for Oliver—mainly food and a few medicines that would be safe for a human to consume.

Priest managed to get Oliver up the stairs and into the master bedroom, which, arguably, had the most comfortable bed, and he was snoring quietly as Priest took his second dose of the Fae wine. He noticed almost immediately the effects weren’t as strong, but he also noticed that while the bottle didn’t replenish itself completely, it replenished itself some.

Which was probably what made it more dangerous.

Living like this, he could see himself offering his name—or several years of his life—in order to take the edge off his hunger. In fact, the absence of it was almost heady. It wasn’t something he’d known since he was very young, and by the gods, he wished it could be like that always.

He was terrified of what was coming, but he’d make do. Oliver needed rest, and Priest would give that little human literally anything in order to keep him safe.

He showered just after midnight before picking the closest guest room to sleep in. He woke twice for a drink, but Oliver hadn’t stirred. It wasn’t until morning that Priest could hear him rustling around, so he forced his heavy limbs to carry him to the kitchen.

Oliver was in no condition to walk anywhere, so he took his time putting together an appropriate breakfast for a human—at least, he was pretty sure. He wasn’t actually sure what humans preferred for each meal or how much of it, so he went with what he liked.

He stared at the tray with an entire pot of tea—and one of coffee, just in case—six oranges, two apples, half a loaf of toasted bread with raspberry jam the royals had sent him away with—the twins had told their parents Priest loved it, so they’d basically given him a lifetime supply, the little shits laughing their heads off as he’d been forced to take it with a smile as he planned his retaliation in his head—and a rasher of bacon.

Was it enough? Oliver needed to heal, and his body would need fuel for that… He decided he could always get more if Oliver was still hungry after he finished.

Priest carefully balanced the tray in his hands and made his way into the master bedroom. Light was filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and Oliver was sitting halfway up, looking put out.

“I’m about to literally piss in your bed, and I can still barely feel my legs.”

Priest rushed to set the tray down on the edge of the mattress, then scooped Oliver into his arms and marched toward the bathroom.

“Uh, the fuck?” Oliver demanded.

Priest smirked down at him. “I don’t know how to work the laundry in this place, and we can’t have cleaners coming in here, so you get to piss in the toilet like a big boy.”

“I’m going to cut your head off,” Oliver snarled.

Priest threw his head back and laughed as he kicked the door open and plopped Oliver down on the toilet. He took a step back and folded his arms as Oliver glowered up at him. “Well?”

Oliver’s eyes widened in fake innocence. “Do you use the toilet? I mean, you must.”

“Yes,” Priest said slowly.

“Do you do it with your fucking pants on?” Oliver hissed.

Priest flushed. “Right. Let me just…”

“Hands off,” Oliver said, batting him away. “Just leave the door cracked open. And if you hear a crash, give me thirty seconds to preserve my dignity before you come in.”

Priest swallowed and nodded, then let himself out and rested the back of his head against the wall with a soft thud.

“And for the sake of all the gods, don’t listen,” Oliver shouted, exasperation bleeding through the door.

Priest threw himself away from the bathroom and paced in front of the bed until he heard Oliver call his name. He took tentative steps toward the doorway, then peered around the jamb.

“I didn’t make a mess,” Oliver said dryly.

Priest smiled. “You’re pretty grumpy in the morning.”

He was only slightly disappointed to see that Oliver had managed to get out and then back into his sweats. But Oliver did deserve dignity, and Priest was a little more careful when lifting him and walking him back into the bedroom. He gingerly placed him against the pillows, then tried to fluff them until Oliver sighed heavily.

“I’m usually not,” he said, pulling the covers over his legs and smoothing his hands over his thighs a few times. “Poe always…” He swallowed. “He says it’s annoying how cheerful I am, but now he’s missing and I can’t move and it’s… it’s just all a lot.”

“Oliver…” He shook his head, deciding against addressing his insistence about Poe still being alive. Instead, he lowered his gaze to Oliver’s legs. “They’ll get better. Azriel said it’ll take some time. That’s why we’re here.”

“At your place,” Oliver said slowly, glancing around with a frown.

Priest knew his bedroom was a bit sterile and lacking in personality, but it was hard to give a shit about the place he rarely had the chance to do more than pass out in. His job came with some fantastic perks, but they didn’t feel like luxury when being inside the town house, only made the loneliness more profound.

He was better off staying at HQ and entertaining himself by pestering his teammates when he wasn’t working.

“It’s the only place right now with wards strong enough to fend off whoever’s after you,” Priest said. He walked around to the edge of the bed and carefully nudged the tray closer. When Oliver didn’t react, he nudged it closer still. Then closer, until it hit his hip.

Oliver startled and looked down. “Uh. Are you eating some of this?”

“No, no. I’ll eat later. I made this for you. You need to refuel your body to help you heal.”

Oliver stared at the tray and then glanced up at him, lips pressed together but the corners twitching in a way that made Priest think he was trying not to laugh at him. “But you made enough for, like, twelve people.”

Priest offered a sheepish smile, his face heating. “Oh, uh, I didn’t know how much you ate. I thought you needed it for, you know, healing.”

Oliver opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he took a breath. “Thank you, Priest. It’ll help.”

Priest preened a little, puffing out his chest. He felt like a godsdamned peacock, but he couldn’t help it. Something about Oliver’s careful praise went straight to his core and made him all… hot. It was a very new feeling. His gaze fell on Oliver again as he dug his fingers into an orange and ripped it in half without peeling it.

Fuck.

Why was that so…

“Do you know why they’re after me?” Oliver asked, the fear in his voice eclipsing whatever Priest had been feeling.

He flopped his arms at his sides. “Not exactly. We’re pretty sure it’s related to what happened to the crown prince and his siblings and the vague threats we’ve been receiving since, but we don’t have any solid leads yet. The best thing we can do is keep you safe while we continue to investigate.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes on him. “What does that mean? Not exactly.”

“Um.” Stomach twisting, Priest glanced away. “It’s possible you were targeted because of me.”

The silence in the room was suffocating, and he couldn’t help but look back at Oliver to try and gauge his reaction. He was sitting frozen, his scent a strange mix of shock, anger, and sorrow. When he pinned Priest with a hard stare, he flinched away.

“Because of you how?”

“Whoever did this, they might have been watching me, us. They would have seen the way I… well. They may have thought you were connected to the team from how often I stop by.” Priest cleared his throat, reaching over and grabbing a cup from the tray and pouring himself some coffee.

Oliver watched his restless movements. “And you think these people who did this, that they’re connected to what happened to Prince Remington?”

Priest nodded slowly, taking a careful sip. “Seems likely. I can’t share everything at this point, but yeah. It’s too big of a coincidence.”

He stared at the orange in his hands for a long, excruciating moment, Priest’s heart racing in his chest, and then Oliver shook his head. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Oliver—”

His sharp eyes landed on Priest, silencing him. “No. You haven’t been around in weeks, and even before that, it was sporadic and short visits. If these assholes were watching you, me and my shop aren’t the way to hit back at you and your team.”

“But—”

“Start again,” Oliver insisted, taking a large bite out of one of the halves of orange. “Don’t make assumptions because you know me. You need to look at all the pieces before you put the picture together.”

Priest sucked in a sharp breath. Gods, the way Oliver’s mind worked had always fascinated him, but the fact he could still see clearly through his grief and anger and call Priest out on it? His whole body began to heat with hunger and desire.

“I will. You’re right,” Priest said softly, running his teeth over his lower lip as he watched Oliver carefully devour his fruit. “While we do that, you need to stay here though. If your shop wasn’t a message to us and you were targeted specifically, that’s even more reason to keep you tucked away here where you’re safe.”

“At least until I’m healed up and can walk again,” Oliver said as he finished half of the orange, then moved on to some of the toast. “Then you can use me as bait while I look for Poe.”

Priest almost choked on his tongue. “I’m sorry. Repeat that, but do it in a way where you aren’t talking like the blast knocked all the sense out of you.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to just sit here on my ass when someone has my best friend.”

“Oliver,” Priest said very softly.

His eyes narrowed. “No. Nothing you can say will convince me that he’s not alive. I feel it. I don’t know why or how, but that doesn’t fucking matter.” He rubbed at his sternum, and then he met Priest’s gaze. “Tell me you’re going to try to stop me. I dare you.”

Priest wanted to rise to that challenge, but before he could, Oliver grimaced, and the bed began to tremble with his leg spasms. He cried out softly, and Priest was immediately kneeling next to him, moving the tray and rubbing his hands firmly over Oliver’s shaking thighs and calves.

“Hey,” he whispered softly. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Oliver groaned, flopping back. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Priest murmured. “But it’ll be okay. This is a good sign.”

Oliver swallowed heavily, and when Priest started to stand, he caught his wrist. “Don’t go.”

“I was just going to get you something for the pain,” Priest said, putting his hand over Oliver’s.

“No. I’m tired of feeling like my head’s in a cloud. Just… can you sit with me? Can you…” He hesitated, biting his lip.

“Anything,” Priest said, kneeling once more. In spite of himself, in spite of all manner of self-preservation he should have been using, he lifted Oliver’s hand from his and kissed his knuckles. “Just ask. You can have anything.”

Oliver breathed out. “Hold me for a little while. It feels better when you do.”

Priest’s hunger flared up, like a beast rising from the abyss to swallow the world whole, but he shoved it down with every ounce of his power and carefully slid beside Oliver. Once Oliver was asleep again, he could take more of the Fae potion; he just needed to hold on until then. A small, fragile human body curled into his own, and Priest wrapped his arms around him. He’d never brought comfort to another being before—not… not really. Not like this. He and Jeremiah used to huddle for warmth when they were on the streets, and Priest often hugged and snuggled against his teammates when he needed the tactile reassurance.

But that was almost always for him, not the others. His Demon always wanted more touch, more food, more warmth, and Priest needed the peace and safety he felt when near the only people he trusted in the world.

This was very different from that.

He buried his nose in Oliver’s hair and breathed him in. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Get some rest. You’ll be walking soon enough.”

Oliver nodded, murmuring something into Priest’s shirt, and not too long after, he was boneless and heavy against him. He settled Oliver more firmly against his chest, then offered a quiet thanks to the gods who allowed him to have this moment.

It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t.

But for a moment in his long, lonely life, he let himself be selfish.