Priest (Trident Agency #2)

9. Priest

9

PRIEST

T he moment he was in the bedroom, he kicked the door shut so hard it rattled on the frame. Oliver, who was perched on the end of the bed, didn’t move. He didn’t startle. He just stared with his wide eyes and lips parted, lust still rolling off him in waves.

Priest took a moment to drink it in, to feed on the tendrils of what he would be having like an appetizer. Then, he reached for the buttons on his shirt as he stalked forward. Oliver’s breath hitched when Priest’s chest was exposed. He dropped his shirt on the floor next to the bed, then pressed his hand to the center of Oliver’s chest.

His heart was beating rabbit fast—like prey.

Fuck.

“Do you know?”

Oliver licked his lips slowly. “Do I know what?”

“What you are?”

Oliver nodded.

“Did you know before Azriel told you?” Priest’s head ducked, and he nuzzled against Oliver’s throat, breathing him in. Oliver tilted his head to the side, giving him better access, and Priest licked at his thrumming pulse. “Have you been hiding it all this time?”

“I had no idea,” Oliver said in a broken whisper. He grabbed at Priest’s waist, clawing at the button on his trousers. “You figured it out. How?”

Priest pulled back, gripping Oliver’s chin tightly. “It was obvious, little human.”

Oliver’s swallow bobbed thickly in his throat. “Little Angel?”

Priest smiled. His teeth felt sharp in his mouth. He pushed Oliver, who moved back like he had no control over his limbs, and Priest followed, crawling along the mattress until Oliver was pinned to the headboard. “Little Angel.” He lifted a claw and traced the sharp point over Oliver’s shirt, then curled them in the hem and tugged until his chest was bare. “You teleported.”

“I did?”

“In my workshop.” Priest bent his elbows until he was eye level with Oliver’s nipples, and his tongue—thin now, slightly forked—flicked out and licked at him. Oliver let out a heavy, soul-deep groan, and Priest felt his lust like the strongest drink in Azriel’s bar. His gaze lifted. “You resisted my thrall.”

Oliver’s jaw ticked with irritation. “Not something I appreciated.”

Priest felt a small wave of guilt, which paled in comparison to the desire that was coursing through him, but it was enough to knock a little sense into him for that single moment. “I know. I’m sorry. I panicked at the thought of losing you.”

Oliver softened, lifting a hand and pressing it to the side of Priest’s throat. It was like a test, seeing how willing he would be to bare his vulnerable spots to this man. Priest tipped his head to the side, and Oliver dragged two fingers over his pulsing artery. “You won’t lose me, Priest. It’s been you and only you for a long, long time now.”

Priest groaned, then surged in and pressed their lips together. Oliver’s mouth was hot, perfect for the wet, messy kiss Priest was taking. His claws managed to get Oliver’s pants undone and shoved down toward his ankles, and he couldn’t help a smile in spite of the raging passion between them as Oliver kicked them away.

“I’m scared,” Oliver said as Priest broke the kiss so he could remove his own trousers.

His hands froze, and he looked up. “Of me?”

“Of what I am. Of what it means,” Oliver whispered.

Priest’s eyes closed in a slow blink as he continued to undress. He needed to feel Oliver’s skin against his own. He shuffled forward, bracketing Oliver’s hips with his knees, and he thrust his hips, his thick, needy cock rubbing against Oliver’s stomach.

“It changes nothing.” He pinched Oliver’s chin, careful not to prick his delicate skin. He might be part Angel, but he was still so human. He was so warm. So perfect. He dipped his head and knocked their foreheads together. “You’re still the man I fell for.”

Oliver’s breath trembled in his chest. “I want you. I can feel your hunger. I want to feed you.”

Priest shuddered. “Oliver?—”

“Let me. I’m strong. You know I’m strong.” His hands dug into Priest’s sides, urging him to fuck his hips forward. Oliver was rock hard, leaking at the tip, and Priest was desperate for a taste. “I can take it.”

Priest looked into his eyes and believed him. Fuck, he believed him. He stole a single, furious kiss before pulling away, and as Oliver made a noise of protest, Priest opened his mouth, grabbed Oliver’s cock, and took him down in a single swallow.

There was a beat of silence so thick Priest thought maybe he’d gone deaf. And then Oliver let out a noise so inhuman it could have shattered glass if he’d been any louder. His Angel voice. Melodic, powerful, and, in this moment, wanton.

Priest sucked hard as he pulled up, dragging Oliver’s essence from the core of him. He tasted like summer, like wind, like rain. It rushed through his limbs, chasing away the edges of madness, sating hunger in ways he’d never been sated before.

Behind his closed lids, he saw something—two glowing threads, reaching for each other, not quite there, but somehow, he knew if they could touch, everything would be right.

It terrified him to his core.

He pulled away with a gasp, his eyes hot as he stared into Oliver’s, which were still bright but rimmed with dark black like his own. Then he blinked, and it was gone.

He and Oliver were both breathing heavily, and his heart was going a million miles a minute.

“Priest,” Oliver said, his voice thready.

He wanted to ask what the hell that was—and if Oliver had seen it too—but he was too far gone to his hunger. He pinned Oliver back with a hand to his throat, and then he gripped their cocks in his palm and began to stroke them.

He kept his gaze locked on Oliver as he fed on him. It flowed through him in every groan, every pant that Oliver gave. Beloved , he thought as he leaned in. My beloved . His forked tongue darted out, licking the sweat from Oliver’s skin, and then he tilted his head back and took his mouth.

Come for me, little human. Little Angel. Come for me.

Oliver’s body began to shake as his orgasm raced through him. Priest could see nothing, feel nothing except the waves of pleasure that were giving him the strength he needed. He could see Oliver’s soul, bright and wild and different to anyone Priest had ever fed on. It was warm. It enveloped him, cradled him. It nourished him in ways nothing ever had.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was taking something from someone. No. He was being given this gift. This power. This strength.

He was only peripherally aware of his own climax—of hot ropes of come spilling on their dicks as he stroked them. And it was only when Oliver moaned in genuine pain that Priest let go with a gasp. His hands trembled as his vision returned.

Oliver was pale.

“Sweetheart—”

“No,” Oliver said. His voice was still strong. He opened his eyes, and they were bright Angel blue. “I’m okay. I’m here.”

Priest collapsed against him, rolling them to the side and wrapping around him like he was afraid to let go. “Promise me you won’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Priest buried his face in the back of Oliver’s neck. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

He heard Oliver’s smile in his happy hum, and he grinned when Oliver nuzzled back against him. “For as long as you want.”

For as long as he wanted was a lie, but it wasn’t Oliver’s fault. His beloved was still dead to the world when Priest woke, and it took him a second to realize it was his phone. He attempted to ignore it, but when it buzzed a dozen more times, he finally grabbed it off the nightstand and extracted himself from the only place he wanted to be.

Still naked, he shuffled out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen as he answered. “This better be fucking good.”

He started the coffee machine with the push of a button, then stared at the glowing numbers on his stove.

It was ass o’clock in the morning. Of course.

“There’s been another attack.” Jeremiah sounded more tired than angry. “Just like Oliver’s shop.”

With those words, Priest didn’t need coffee. “Where?”

“Dawson and Zimmerson. It’s a?—”

“Law firm.” Priest gripped the counter. “Fuck. They were in the news recently, weren’t they?”

“One of the partners—Zimmerson—he made a statement about McCornal and his shit-for-brains son, calling what happened to Remi and his siblings horrifying and a product of McCornal’s crusade of hatred,” Jeremiah said with a heavy sigh. “The firm has a lot of very important clients—some human and some supernatural—and most of them have been quietly distancing themselves from the senator since.”

That… was a lot of information to have on hand for such a fluid situation.

“Have we been monitoring the firm?” he asked, rubbing at his throbbing temples.

Jeremiah didn’t say anything for a moment. “Our analysts were aware of an online campaign targeting the firm.”

“What kind of campaign?”

“The kind that usually doesn’t go beyond the dark corners of the internet.”

But this time, it had.

Priest’s brow furrowed as he abandoned his coffee and slipped into the bathroom. He had clothes that weren’t entirely filthy, and he pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he struggled into his jeans. “Oliver’s shop hadn’t gotten any press recently, right? We can’t call that a pattern.”

“The targets seem to have some similarities and some noted differences.” Jeremiah let out a slow breath. “How fast can you get here?”

“I need five minutes to get dressed and leave a note for Oliver.”

“Did you two work things out?”

“More than,” Priest said with a smile, satisfaction still humming through his veins.

“Spare me the details and tell me he’s not going to take off. We don’t have the resources to track him down if he gets a wild hair and tries to go after his friend.”

Priest had about a thousand questions, but he’d ask them later. He also ignored Jeremiah’s demand. “I’ll see you soon. Ping me the address.”

He hung up and finished dressing, then dragged wet fingers through his hair to put it in some semblance of order as he rinsed with mouthwash.

He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror and was startled to see what he looked like. His skin was all but glowing, and the dark circles under his eyes had receded to almost nothing. He looked alive. He looked better than he had in years.

And he didn’t need a second to understand exactly why that was. He was fairly sure it had nothing to do with the fact that Oliver was part Angel. He’d fed from a full-blooded Angel, and nothing like this had happened. He’d even had a Nephilim lover years and years back, and while he’d felt powerful from it, he didn’t feel restored the way he did now. Like his muscles and bones filled out his skin better than they ever had before.

It was something to do with Oliver . No, it was everything to do with Oliver.

He pinned the thought aside because he didn’t have time for it. He would take advantage of the fact that he was feeling more alert and use it to take care of whatever the fuck was going on. He knew Jeremiah likely had a theory, and if Knight had been able to get some downtime and recenter, he probably had ideas as well.

After all, if any of them knew what it was like to escape something like this, it was their Vampire brother.

Heading back into the kitchen, Priest rummaged around his neglected drawers until he found an old notepad and a pen. The ink in it was half-dry, but he managed to sketch out a quick note telling Oliver that he’d be back, and under no circumstances was he to leave the house. He wished he had better magic abilities so he could ward his wayward little lover inside, but he didn’t.

Besides, if Oliver could break his thrall, there was no telling what other bits of Priest’s magic he could resist.

Tiptoeing back into his room, Priest stood beside the bed and stared down at his lover. Oliver looked small somehow, nestled in his sheets with the comforter pulled halfway up his chest. He had one arm flung over his head, the other curled in a loose fist at his side, and his lips were gently parted with his breath.

Priest wanted to crawl into the bed and wrap around him and never leave. Instead, he set the note down on the nightstand, brushed a kiss to his temple, taking in a deep breath of his scent, and then he turned and hurried out.

The streets smelled like ash and a little like magic. The same scent that was all over Oliver’s bookshop. It had blown into the street, knocking out several windows of nearby shops, and though the police were keeping people back, crowds had gathered.

Priest couldn’t help but hear the quiet murmur as he approached. He passed well enough for human, but they still knew.

Demon. Monster. Abomination.

The words slipped past their lips in soft murmurs. They trusted him to save their asses, but none of them would ever shake his hand. His stomach twisted, but he couldn’t let himself give a shit about that now. He never had before, and he wasn’t about to start in the middle of a job.

Jeremiah was off to the side, speaking to the detective that looked like he was leading the investigation, so Priest slid up to Knight and Slate as they surveyed the scene. He took a deep breath, searching for something besides rubble and the faint lingering hint of magic.

“It’s not Fae,” Slate said, his voice a low rumble. He would know. Gargoyles were a distant cousin of the Fae, and being that he was once a prince of the oldest bloodline of Gargoyles, he would recognize it anywhere. “I can’t pinpoint what it is.”

“It’s the same as the scene when Jeremiah was almost killed,” Knight said.

Priest nodded. It was. Magic manipulated by human hands and wielded by… he didn’t know. Not yet.

“I have a gut feeling this is about to get a lot more familiar for me,” Knight said quietly. He had his arms wrapped around his middle, his eyes covered by dark glasses, his face paler than usual.

“Was anyone found alive?” Priest asked.

Knight shook his head. “Two people were in the building, DOA when the cops got here.”

Priest dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

“That’s not all.” Knight stepped closer to him. “We found a scent trail. One of the firefighters is a Dragon. He said this hasn’t been released yet, but a third person has been reported missing.”

“Who?” Priest’s voice was sharp. He was afraid of the answer.

“One of the senior partners at the firm—his son. He’d been hired recently as an intern. There’s no sign of a body.”

Senior partner .

“Zimmerson?”

Knight raised a brow. “How’d you know?”

“I want to talk to him,” Priest said, ignoring the question. Jeremiah would fill in the rest of the team as soon as they had a chance to catch their breath.

Slate nodded. “I’m going to sniff around the other alleys and see if I can find anything. Shout if you need me.”

He broke away, and Priest moved in close to Knight, who looked like he’d been awake for days. “Tell me you’re alright.”

Knight grimaced, his fangs showing. “I’ve been better. You know what this feels like, right?”

Priest did. It wasn’t like he was ever going to forget what his brother had been through before he turned. The torment kept him up at night, kept him from being able to be close to anyone. The only thing Priest wanted to do was pull his friend close, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now.

“Have you been with your moths?”

Knight paused mid-step and barely held back his smile. “Yes. Four of them cocooned yesterday. They’ll be ready for release soon.”

Priest grinned, unable to help it. Part of Knight’s therapy was finding something he could do—something mindless to take the edge off the pain. Priest had no idea how he got into it, but he’d started breeding Death’s head Hawkmoths. Whenever he disappeared, the guys knew exactly where to find him: in his sanctuary beneath his home, sitting in a chair reading with several moths perched on his shoulders.

They spent the next couple of hours examining the scene, talking to witnesses, and conferring with the Bravo Team members who’d come out to help. Any bit of possible evidence was sent back to the analysts at HQ, their search continuing long after the police detectives had headed back to their beds.

There wasn’t much to go on, and the frustration from that ate at Priest, enraging his Demon and making his skin itch.

The head of the Bravo Team—Seven—clapped him on the shoulder just as the city began to rumble with life around them, moving forward despite the devastation happening amidst them. “We’re going to head back to HQ, start sifting through everything from this scene and the bookshop. Try and find a connection.”

Priest laid a hand over Seven’s, feeling a kinship with the Shadow Demon. “Thanks for coming to help. I know you and your team are already covering a lot for us so we can focus on this.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” Seven said, deep voice reverberating through Priest’s chest. He gave him a half smile, then dissipated right in front of Priest’s eyes, the weight of his hand the last thing to disappear.

Knight wandered over, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Let’s find Sunshine and Slate.”

They rounded the corner of what was left of the law firm’s building, and the two firefighters who were still on scene turned to face them. Priest spotted the Dragon, nodding at him. He broke away from his partner and walked up.

He gave Priest a slow up and down. Dragons didn’t often hate the same way others did when they realized he was a Demon, but sometimes, they did. He braced himself, but after a beat, the Dragon’s shoulders relaxed.

“Trident, eh?”

“Alpha Team. I’m Pries.” He extended his hand.

“Kellan.” His palm was warm, as all Dragons were. “I spoke with the head of your team.”

“I’ve been brought up to speed and know about the person who was taken. Can you give us any information on him?”

“He was human,” Kellan said, sounding tired. “Young. Barely nineteen. His birthday was a few weeks ago.”

There was a sadness in his voice that hit Priest in the sternum.

“Were you two?—”

“No,” Kellan said with a laugh, and then his face fell. “No, nothing like that. But I’ve known him a long time. Since he was knee-high. Good kid. Really fucking good kid.” His voice cracked. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

“What’s his name?” Priest asked. He had a feeling Jeremiah hadn’t gotten details. When he was focused, he missed those small things.

Kellan closed his eyes in a slow blink. “Cody.”

Cody. Poe. Gods knew who else. Priest had a feeling this was just the beginning.

“Was he an activist?”

Kellan shrugged. “His parents were—if you want to call it that. He was just a student trying to make some extra cash over the summer. He wanted to buy a convertible before school started.” Kellan passed a hand down his face. “He babysat for my Hoard sometimes.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to get him back.”

“Give us your contact information,” Knight said, his voice a little stiff. “In case we need more information from you.”

“Will you call me if you find him?” Kellan asked.

“Yes,” Priest promised him as he took Kellan’s information down. “As soon as we know something, I’ll send a message.”

“Thank you. I’m serious, man. He didn’t deserve this.”

Knight bowed his head. “We know. None of them do.”

They made their way back to Jeremiah, who was leaning against the open door of his SUV. He looked more exhausted than Knight. Glancing up, he relaxed when he saw Priest and Knight, and he pushed away from the door.

“Find anything?”

“Nothing we don’t already know. Good kid, name’s Cody,” Priest said. “Not a vocal activist.”

“Neither was Poe, as far as I’m aware. But his family was,” Jeremiah said. He was frowning, rubbing at his temples. “And then there’s Remi. People didn’t love that he was half Siren, but he didn’t make a big fuss about it. Neither did his parents. None of this is adding up.”

“And the scents are disappearing into thin air,” Slate said as he walked up. “I don’t like it. I think you need to get Oliver somewhere safe.”

“Safer than his town house?” Jeremiah asked.

“Maybe.”

Priest raised his brow. “Why?”

“Because so far, we have dead bodies and missing bodies. Oliver’s the only one who’s survived an attack and is still here. If he was meant to die or be taken as well, whoever did this might come back for him.”

Priest’s stomach twisted. Fuck, Slate was right. He hadn’t sensed any danger around his place, but leaving Oliver alone might have been one giant mistake. Whoever was behind all this shit had to know he’d come running when he heard about another attack. “I need to go.”

“What’s wrong?” Jeremiah asked.

Priest was already backing away. “I left him there alone.”

“Your place is warded,” Knight started, then stopped, and his shoulders sagged. “Except that only works if he stays put, and he’s a flight risk, isn’t he?”

Priest didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and fled.

He broke every traffic law getting back to his place, and he flew through the door without ceremony. He could feel his Demon itching to come out. His eyes were black, the heat in the room growing, his claws stretching from his fingertips.

He wanted nothing more than to find his little human in his bed, still sleeping from their night together, but he couldn’t feel him.

Knight was right: the wards would have protected him. But his beloved was a man on a mission, and he would not be stopped.

And now he was gone.