Priest (Trident Agency #2)

13. Priest

13

PRIEST

T he flight to the Dragons’ lair was mostly silent, just him and Oliver curled up together watching a silly comedy and a few members of Bravo Team stoic in the rear of the plane. He wasn’t sure about his sleepy human, but his own subdued nature came down to the fact that he couldn’t focus on anything beyond Oliver and their connection.

And that was terrifying.

Especially when he couldn’t be sure Oliver wouldn’t change his mind again and go off on his own. Rationally, he knew Oliver was smart—brilliant, even—and that he understood the dangers now that he hadn’t before. And he’d promised Priest, just as Priest had him, that they were in this together.

But his Demon wanted to lock Oliver in a tower and keep him safe from the whole world, including his own impulsivity. His rampant possessiveness may just be the thing that finally drove him over the edge and into madness despite the fact he felt more levelheaded than he could ever remember and barely had any twinges of hunger after gorging himself on his sweet-but-not-quite-human beloved.

He was grateful when they finally landed at a small, private airport about thirty minutes from the Dragons’ house. The Bellona Mountains loomed around them, dark storm clouds rolling in from the west, teasing them with the occasional drop.

Their ride was already there waiting for them, the bright orange SUV with tinting so dark even he couldn’t see through it saved them from the inevitable downpour.

Priest opened the door to the back seat, cringing as the eardrum-rupturing bass hit his sensitive ears. He put an arm in front of Oliver to stop him from climbing in, a wince on his face. Pounding on the driver’s window, he threw his hands up in exasperation when Rorick lowered it and just stared at him.

“Turn it down, asshole,” Priest snarled, letting his eyes go black. “I’m not going to let you ruin Oliver’s hearing because your Hoard lets you get away with being a prick.”

Rorick held his gaze as he reached over with one heavily tattooed arm and cranked the volume down to barely audible. “There you go, princess. Now, are you getting in, or do you need to remove the stick that’s up your ass before you can comfortably sit?”

Priest stared at the Dragon. He had half a mind to drag Oliver back to the plane and take him to one of their safe houses instead. Rorick didn’t move a muscle, his handsome face completely stoic, with just the faintest glimmer of orange in his irises.

Of all the Dragons in the Hoard, he was, by far, Priest’s least favorite. His attitude was always grumpy, to say the least, sometimes bordering on hostile. When Priest had spent time with the Hoard while he was babysitting the Siren crown prince’s siblings, he’d rarely seen Rorick. The man hadn’t been interested in socializing or spending time with him or the young twins, whereas the rest of the Hoard had fawned over them and loved on them like they were little baby Dragons and not half-human, half-siren prince and princess.

Priest knew enough about the Hoard’s past to understand why Rorick was a giant asshole. But he didn’t appreciate the general hostility he was getting from him and wasn’t sure he wanted to subject Oliver to it, even for the short drive to the Hoard’s house. Sensing his mood shift, Oliver put a hand on his forearm and gave him a light squeeze, stepping in close next to him.

“Thank you for coming to pick us up,” Oliver said cheerfully, giving the stoic Dragon a wide smile. “And we truly appreciate you and your mates taking us in temporarily.”

Rorick grunted and tipped his chin up slightly, giving Oliver the barest of recognition. Then he turned forward, gazing out of the windshield like he didn’t care one way or the other whether they got in the car or not.

Oliver tugged on his arm a little, and Priest relented, giving him a hand up into the back seat and then quickly following him in. The door had barely closed, and Rorick took off, driving faster than Priest was comfortable with, but he knew if he said anything, the Dragon would probably just ignore him. So instead, he hurriedly fastened Oliver’s seat belt around him and gave him a tight smile.

Oliver’s returning smile was soft and amused. He reached up and caressed Priest’s face lightly, holding his gaze for a long moment. Warmth swelled in Priest’s chest, affection and something deeper and scarier tickling at the back of his brain.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rorick growled. “Keep it in your pants until we at least get to the house. Fucking Incubus.”

The last part was muttered so softly Oliver definitely didn’t catch it, but Priest did, his spine straightening and shoulders going back. It wasn’t like he could control his Demon when Oliver was so near to him and offering him such easy affection. His hold on his other side had been tenuous at best long before his little human came into his life. Now, it was all he could do not to mount and feed on him every chance he got.

Clearing his throat, Oliver slipped his hand into Priest’s and turned forward. “I’ve never visited a Dragon Hoard before,” he said conversationally. “Though I’ve read about them extensively. Is there specific etiquette I should be aware of?”

Rorick looked at him in the rearview mirror and then back at the road. Raindrops started coming down harder, the automatic wipers turning on. The music was low but still throbbing in the speakers.

Priest’s hackles began to rise at his beloved being ignored, and then Rorick finally spoke.

“No, there’s no specific etiquette. We are happy to have you as guests in our home.”

The words didn’t exactly ring true, and Priest had a feeling Caspian was behind them. No doubt, he had reminded Rorick of that before sending him to fetch them. Priest wished the geneticist could have been the one to pick them up, but it had been too short of notice for him to get out of something for work. He promised he would meet with them as soon as he was finished though, his lab conveniently located in the basement of the Hoard’s house.

“And we really do appreciate it,” Oliver said hurriedly, ignoring Rorick’s tone and general leave-me-the-fuck-alone demeanor.

“We really do,” Priest muttered when Oliver elbowed him and gave him a pointed look.

All the Dragon did was grunt at them again.

An amazing conversationalist.

“How many are in your Hoard?” Oliver asked after a few minutes of silence.

Priest winced, giving his hand a quick squeeze and then shaking his head subtly when Oliver glanced at him.

“Oh, I mean…”

Rorick cleared his throat. “There’s five of us, but you’ll only meet four.”

Oliver sent him a confused look, brows scrunched adorably, and Priest tried to convey silently that he would tell him later and to not prod at that particular subject anymore.

Taking the hint, Oliver asked, “Do you enjoy being able to fly over the mountains? It must be a lovely view.”

Rorick shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Priest rolled his eyes, deciding to step in before Rorick strained something. “I know Flint and Tamir like to go out quite often.” He’d learned that during his last visit. Flint was an executive chef at a fancy restaurant, but any chance he got, he was in the sky with one or more of his mates. Tamir owned his own garage, mostly restoring classic cars, which gave him a flexible schedule. “Tamir also really likes to hunt in his Dragon form.”

Oliver turned to him, looking grateful. “That must be so fun.”

“I hope you like venison,” Rorick muttered from the front seat.

Oliver looked between the two of them, obviously not sure if that was a joke or not, but just smiled once more. “Yes, of course. I’m not picky.”

He and Oliver kept up a light conversation the rest of the way, with Rorick barely participating, though his frostiness seemed to have thawed out a little bit at Oliver’s easygoing demeanor and earnest way of asking questions. As they turned around the last bend and the Dragons’ home came into view, Priest smiled at Oliver’s sharp intake of breath.

Even with how dark the sky had gotten—thanks to the storm now in full force and the rain hindering some of the view—the size and majesty of the Hoard’s home couldn’t be denied, especially as most of the windows were lit up from the inside, glowing softly like a beacon welcoming them in.

Rorick veered to the left and hit a button on his dash that opened one of the garage doors. He pulled the SUV in, parking between five motorcycles clustered together and a bright yellow sports car that maybe would fit three out of four of the Hoard members. There was another SUV parked on the other side of the garage and bicycles mounted on the wall closest to them. As they stepped out, Priest noted the kayaks hanging from the ceiling.

Everything inside the space pointed to a family that enjoyed doing activities together.

Priest grabbed their bags from out of the back, waving Rorick off when he made a half-hearted effort to try and grab one. They followed the Dragon through the garage, a roll of Hoard rumbling around them as the garage door slowly lowered.

They went into the house through a door that brought them into a large mudroom filled with coats and boots and umbrellas. Rorick paused, leaning down to untie his black boots before kicking them off. Oliver glanced at him, and Priest nodded, quickly toeing off his own and using his feet to slide them out of the way.

Dragons were particular about their homes, despite what Rorick had said about not having any particular etiquettes. It was considered rude to wear your shoes while inside, and Priest had learned the hard way the first time he was there with the twins. The shocked and disbelieving looks had made his skin crawl, and he’d been quick to remedy his mistake.

If they would have come in through the front door, they would have walked into the grand entrance. Marble floors, high vaulted ceilings, and two staircases that led up to the second floor. But coming in through the mudroom, you got dumped right into the kitchen. It was grand in its own way and extremely spacious, but it had to be to feed a Hoard of Dragons.

But it was also lived-in and functional, unlike some of the other parts of the house that felt like they were more for display. Dragons could be arrogant about things , caring more about material goods than they probably should sometimes. But they valued nothing more than their mates, their families, so the parts of their homes that were used most often were comfortable and cozy.

Oliver made a startled noise next to him, his gaze glued on the tall, umber-skinned man dicing vegetables at the kitchen island. “Storm?”

Priest laughed, and Flint did as well.

“I get that a lot,” the chef said, not slowing down his chopping even as he smiled at Oliver, his knife going a mile a minute. “My brother and I do look an awful lot alike.”

Oliver gazed at him with wide eyes, and Priest shrugged. “I told you I knew them.”

He slapped at Priest’s arm. “You could have mentioned they were family.” He grinned at Flint. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve only met your brother a handful of times when he was dragging this one out of my…” His voice faltered, his entire demeanor changing in the blink of an eye, his grief so thick Priest could scent it on the air. “Um, m-my shop.”

Flint gave him a sympathetic look. “We heard about what happened. I’m so sorry. All that knowledge just lost. It’s devastating to the entire supernatural community, but I can’t even imagine how you must feel, especially with your friend missing.”

Oliver blinked quickly and looked away, swiping beneath one of his eyes and clearing his throat. “At least I still have Poe. We’ll find him.” He met Priest’s eyes, his expression full of fear and longing. “We have to find him.”

Priest cupped his face, uncaring what the Dragons thought. “We will.”

He and Oliver stared at each other, sharing the moment, breathing each other in and letting the feeling of their skin connecting soothe them both. Rorick groaned behind them, and Flint chuckled.

“Oh, Ro, leave them be. Don’t you remember what it was like to be newly mated?”

Oliver started choking on nothing, his face turning beet red, and Priest’s heart fell to the floor. Was the idea of being mated to him so horrifying? He thought… Well, he supposed it didn’t matter what he’d thought.

He let his hands drop, and he took a step away as Flint hurried to fill a glass and hand it to Oliver. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

Oliver waved a hand in the air after taking a long sip. “No, it just caught me by surprise. We haven’t…” He glanced at Priest, his smile shy. “We haven’t really talked about… you know, everything.”

“There’s no rush,” Flint assured them, clapping Oliver on the shoulder briefly and then rounding the kitchen island once more, gesturing Rorick toward him with a quick flick of his fingers.

Rorick grumbled but complied, not stopping until he was pressed against Flint’s front, wrapping his tattooed arms around his mate and taking a deep breath before letting it out noisily.

“Were you polite to our guests?”

Rorick grunted in reply, and Flint chuckled again.

“He was fine, lovely even,” Oliver quickly said.

“You don’t have to cover for him,” Flint said, smiling fondly at the top of Rorick’s head.

Rorick ignored them, keeping his face buried in his mate’s neck.

“He really is quite sweet once you get to know him though. He can just be a little prickly with new people.”

“I’m right here,” he grunted.

“Of course you are, dear,” Flint said. “Tamir’s out back, fiddling with one of the ATVs. Why don’t you two go for a quick flight before dinner?”

Rorick was already speed-walking toward the large glass doors that led to the back patio.

“No hunting,” he called after him. “Both freezers are already full to capacity.”

Rorick waved a hand in the air and then disappeared outside. There was a flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a rumble of thunder.

Oliver looked at Priest and then Flint. “Is it safe for them to fly in a storm like this?”

Flint laughed, and Priest had to press his lips together to stop from chuckling himself.

“Dragons are pretty hardy,” Flint told him, his perfectly white teeth almost blinding from across the room. “Even if they somehow managed to get themselves struck by lightning, it wouldn’t penetrate their scales.”

“Whoa,” Oliver whispered. “That’s so cool.”

Priest bristled. “Demons are pretty cool too, you know.”

Snorting, Flint went back to chopping his vegetables, a huge slab of meat waiting next to the grill top. Priest knew he was being ridiculous, but the words had flown out before he could stop them. He didn’t want Oliver admiring any other supernaturals or their abilities.

Oliver leaned against his side and tipped his head back so their faces were only inches apart. “Of course they are. In fact, there’s one in particular I’m quite fond of.”

He hoped fond of meant wished to be mated to .

Now that Flint had broken the seal on that word and Priest was finally letting himself acknowledge the possibility, it was all he and his Demon could focus on. He wanted that. He wanted Oliver by his side for the rest of his life, caring for him, and protecting him, and feeding off him.

When he didn’t respond, Oliver scrunched his eyebrows at him.

Priest cleared his throat, smiled as best he could, and said to Flint, “Is Caspian still working downstairs?”

Flint nodded. “He’ll probably be at least another half an hour. He had some conference call that he had to hop on, but once that’s wrapped up, he’ll be done for the day. Dinner won’t be ready for an hour or so. If you guys want to head up, we made up the same guest room you were in last time, Priest.”

That sounded like a great idea. He needed to chill for a minute before subjecting himself to the entire Hoard. He gave Oliver a more genuine smile. “Let’s go get settled in. You can meet Caspian and Tamir at dinner.”

Oliver studied his face for a moment, then gave a half shrug and turned to Flint. “Thank you again for letting us stay.”

“Of course,” Flint said. “Like you said, the Alpha Team is family, even when my brother would prefer us not to be,” he added with a wry grin.

Priest led the way out of the kitchen, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Oliver slipped his fingers between Priest and whispered, “What did he mean? Why does Storm sometimes wish you guys weren’t considered family by his brother’s Hoard?”

He considered what he should say since it wasn’t really his story to tell but then decided Storm would understand him sharing with his… future mate. “He has a complicated relationship with his siblings and parents. Flint is the only one he speaks to on a regular basis. His parents won’t talk to him at all, and his other siblings only on holidays or when something major happens.”

Oliver made a sympathetic noise. “Family can be complicated, that’s for sure.”

Priest wouldn’t know, but he decided not to bring that up. They weren’t talking about him and his childhood of growing up on the streets, in and out of foster homes, until he met Jeremiah and the two of them teamed up to keep each other safe. And then, when they were a little older, they found a newly turned Knight, so traumatized from the unspeakable things that had happened to him he was barely functioning.

“You know how Dragons always have multiple mates, right?” Priest said, leading them up one side of the grand staircase.

Oliver’s eyes were on the mural on the ceiling, twenty-five feet above them. “Right. Hoards are a minimum of three mates, though usually five to six is more common.”

He rattled off the information like he was reciting it from a book, which he probably was. Priest wasn’t sure why he found that adorable as fuck, but he did.

“Well, Storm… he’s not interested in having more than one mate.”

Oliver whipped his head around, nearly stumbling on the next step. “He doesn’t want more than one mate?”

“No,” Priest said clearly, “and when he told his parents…”

“They disavowed him,” Oliver finished for him.

“Essentially. He’s not welcome in his parents’ home anymore. His mothers and fathers are unwilling to bend in their belief that it’s just a phase.”

Oliver shook his head, his lip curled up in disgust. “How anyone could think that about their own child…”

“It’s more common than you’d think. Humans aren’t the only ones who can be intolerant,” Priest said, thinking about him and Jeremiah both being cast aside as children. And so many others they encountered in the same circumstances. “Anyway, that’s why he sometimes prefers to keep the Alpha Team—his chosen family—away from his brother’s Hoard.”

“Even though Flint accepts him for who he is?”

“He didn’t at first, but eventually, he came around,” Priest said, leading him down the hallway in the opposite direction of the Hoard’s bedroom on the other side of the house. “They’ve talked a lot, and I think Flint’s mates have also helped him, especially after what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked.

Priest found the bedroom he’d used the last time he was in the house. The door was cracked open, and a warm light was on inside. He pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped back so Oliver could go in first. He followed right behind and kicked the door shut behind him, dropping their bags at the foot of the enormous bed that was taking up the majority of the large room.

“They had a fifth mate,” Priest said, his voice stark. “They don’t talk about what happened to him, and Storm has never told us. I don’t know if he even knows the details. I don’t think they even know if he’s dead or alive.”

Oliver clapped his hands over his mouth. “Dear gods, they don’t know if he’s alive?”

“I don’t think so. According to Storm, that’s why Rorick is as standoffish as he is. He was the closest to their lost mate, and he was never able to get past it. Not that the others have moved on, but they’ve found a way to cope. Rorick… he’s stuck.”

“That’s so sad,” Oliver whispered. “I can’t even imagine.”

Priest couldn’t either. Now that he had found Oliver, he couldn’t imagine losing him. Not knowing where he was or what was happening with him, if he was safe or if he was scared and in pain.

The not knowing would be worse than knowing for sure he’d never see him again.

Oliver sniffled and held his arms out. “Will you lay with me for a little while? I just… I need to hold you after hearing that for some reason. I need us to be as close as possible.”

Priest’s Demon rumbled in his chest. “I need that too, little human.”