Priest (Trident Agency #2)

14. Oliver

14

OLIVER

“Y

ou’re part Angel, alright,” Caspian said, peering at one of his large monitors through his thick-rimmed glasses. His wavy hair looked a little overgrown, and there was at least two days’ worth of stubble on his face, but he still managed to make the look work .

“Was that really in doubt?” Priest asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. Oliver wasn’t sure why he was bothering. He’d learned over dinner the night before that the Dragon had not one but two PhDs and was a geneticist. There was no way either one of them would be able to understand the results of the tests Caspian had run overnight.

“In doubt? No,” Caspian said, scrolling through whatever information was on his screen. “But I don’t like to deal with assumptions. I like to know all of the facts so I can build the appropriate parameters for the experiment.”

“Experiment?” Oliver said loudly, drawing both of their attention to where he was leaning over the continental map spread out on one of Caspian’s workstations. He was supposed to be focusing on it to see if he could pinpoint where Poe might be, but he hadn’t gotten so much as a tingle in his toes so far.

Caspian glanced over at him, a tiny frown between his brows. He was the palest of his mates, a smattering of freckles on his cheeks the only real color. Both he and Rorick were white, but it was clear Caspian spent far less time outside in the sun. Their other mate, Tamir, had a tawny skin tone somewhere between Flint’s dark umber and Rorick’s taupe.

“‘Experiment’ might have been the wrong word,” Caspian conceded slowly, tugging at the bottom of his sweater vest. “‘Testing’ would be more accurate in this case. Either way, your angelic friend, Azriel, was right. Somewhere in your recent lineage, a fallen Angel bred a human.”

Oliver scrunched up his face. “Bred? Really? That’s gross.”

Priest spun around, but Oliver still heard his muffled snickering.

“And since then,” Caspian continued, not acknowledging either one of them. Oliver had a feeling he was used to interruptions from his mates and was unfazed by them. “From one generation to the next, the angelic blood was there, building in the background. Unlike other supernatural creatures, the more angelic DNA mixes with human, the stronger it becomes.”

Eyes feeling like they might fall out of his head, Oliver stared at him. “So, like, I’m stronger than Azriel?”

Caspian shook his head. “Not at this point, but who knows what could happen with concentration and training.”

He looked over at Priest. His Demon was staring at him, just as shocked. Oliver knew a lot of supernaturals in passing, thanks to his shop, but it was easy to tell that Azriel was by far the strongest. He radiated with power, casting out an aura that could either set you completely at ease or make your skin crawl with agitation, depending on his mood.

“And because of the co-mingling of species,” Caspian continued, his attention once more on his computer, “we won’t know until your powers fully manifest what they are.”

“Well, he can teleport—at least short distances,” Priest offered.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Oliver rolled his eyes. “But I didn’t do that on purpose. I have no idea how I did it. If you weren’t so sure it happened, I’d say you imagined it.”

“Oh, it definitely happened,” Priest assured him, striding across the lab. “And he has gut feelings that are usually right, including that his friend was still alive before we even realized he’d been taken.”

His face began to heat for some reason, like Priest was bragging about him instead of just listing off what they knew so far.

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Priest gave him a quick squeeze. “And then Oliver could feel Poe when he was where Poe had been taken, like a hook drawing him to wherever he is.”

Caspian was typing quickly and nodding along as Priest recited the facts. “Anything else?”

Priest looked at him expectantly, but Oliver shook his head. “Not that we know of.”

“We’ll start there, then.”

“This isn’t working,” Oliver said, shoving at the map so that it slid halfway across the table, the top half of the continent hanging precariously over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his fist down twice and then stood there, shoulders hunched, head lowered, palms pressed onto the tabletop.

Whatever abilities he’d tapped into outside of the bookshop must have been a onetime thing because he’d been trying for a week, and nothing had happened. Occasionally he thought he could detect the faintest hum or buzzing, but then it would disappear just as quickly, and he was now convinced he’d been imagining it. He was a fraud. He was the reason they were never gonna find Poe. He was?—

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind.

“It’s not useless, and you’re not powerless. A month ago, you didn’t even know about this side of you.” Priest’s words were low, said right into his ear and calming. Or maybe that was his presence. Just having him near was enough to dial back his ire most days. And the longer they spent holed up with the Dragons, the faster it happened and the easier it seemed to be.

“What if they’re hurting him?” he whispered into the quiet of Caspian’s lab.

The Dragon had disappeared hours ago, probably off canoodling with one or more of his mates. Oliver was grateful Priest was the only one seeing him lose his cool and finally voicing the concern he’d had ever since he’d known for sure that Poe really was alive.

“What if…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Priest’s arms tightened around him. “What if he’s not alive anymore?” Priest asked delicately.

Oliver nodded, tears squeezing out behind his lids. Just the idea of a world without his best friend in it felt like a punch to the solar plexus, like he couldn’t breathe and his whole body wanted to collapse in on itself.

“Just because he was taken alive doesn’t mean he’s still… And even if he is, what are the chances they aren’t torturing him?”

Priest didn’t respond for a moment, and Oliver appreciated that. He didn’t want Priest to simply placate him, tell him everything was going to be okay and give him a pat on the head. This was real, and it was dangerous, and he needed to know what Priest actually thought.

“We think he’s still alive,” Priest said, speaking carefully, and Oliver had to wonder what kind of information he’d been receiving from his regular updates from Jeremiah and Knight. “Taking someone against their will—that’s more difficult than you might think. If all they wanted to do was kill him, they wouldn’t have bothered to take him.”

Oliver choked back a whimper, and Priest’s fingers flexed against his abs.

“Same with the lawyer’s son; they took him, blew up the building, and left the other two to die.”

“And the others?” Oliver prompted. He’d overheard part of a conversation between Priest and the rest of Alpha Team the other night. He knew there had been more attacks.

“Same with the others. One other location had a casualty as well as a missing person. They’re being very selective in who they take, which means they have some sort of plan. And they haven’t asked for ransom or to negotiate with the families or the royals.”

“But they could still be hurting them?” Oliver asked, even as that information eased a little more of the tension in his body.

“They could be,” Priest said, not sugarcoating it. “It’s very possible, though the purpose of taking multiple people just for the sake of torture doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe they’re just a bunch of psychos,” Oliver muttered.

Priest gave him a squeeze and then stepped back, turning Oliver to face him and cupping the sides of his neck. He pressed his thumbs beneath the edge of Oliver’s chin and pushed his face up, forcing him to meet his gaze. “They aren’t just a bunch of psychos.”

Oliver sighed. “I know.”

One side of Priest’s mouth went up in a small smile, and he said, not for the first time, “They have a plan. They’re professionals. That means they have an endgame. They’re not just causing harm to cause harm.”

Oliver took a deep breath in through his nose and then let it out noisily through his mouth, trying to shake the last of the anxiety out of his body. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just so fucking frustrated. I can’t seem to control my powers at all, if I even have any.”

Priest gave him an unimpressed look. “You have them. Most Supes spend years figuring out how to control themselves and any abilities that they might have, and that’s after knowing your whole life you’ll grow into the abilities. How long did Caspian say it took him to learn how to fly?”

It was Oliver’s turn to roll his eyes. “Three months.”

“Three months just to stay off the ground for over a minute,” Priest corrected. “It took him two years to be comfortable flying at any altitude or distance that he needed.”

Oliver had a feeling Caspian was the exception, that his intellectual brain had possibly hindered him in following his Dragon’s instincts, but he’d appreciated what had passed for a pep talk from the scientist.

“Poe doesn’t have two years,” Oliver said.

“I know, which is why we aren’t only depending on you,” Priest reminded him, leaning in and pressing his forehead against Oliver’s, the soft contact nearly melting the bones in his body. “My team and the Bravo Team are making progress. I know it’s not as fast as you want, but we should have answers within the next week or so.”

Another week. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that. The Dragons were wonderful, fed them well, kept them entertained, had all kinds of activities to try and distract him— everything from board games to SUVs that had been modified to go up the mountain.

But being unable to leave? Not being able to run down the mountain and back into the city, to go back to the bookshop and follow whatever instinct had tried to lead him to Poe, it was killing a little piece of him. No matter how much he loved being able to spend time with Priest, curled up in his arms at night, working on trying to harness his powers during the day, and everything in between.

He couldn’t take much more of it.

“Let’s take a break,” Priest said, like he could read Oliver’s mind. “Maybe we should go watch a movie or take the bikes out for a ride, get some fresh air.”

Oliver considered those options and then shook his head. “I have a better idea.”

He slipped free from Priest’s hold but then held out his hand. Priest took it, entwining their fingers, and let Oliver lead him up to the main floor and then up the staircase into the bedroom they’d been given for their stay.

Priest closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, his eyes already beginning to darken. Oliver was pretty sure he was starting to be able to sense when Priest’s powers grew, filling the air around them with lust and desire, heightening the feelings he already had.

He held his eyes, slowly stripping out of his clothes and tossing them aside. Climbing up onto the bed, he scooted back until he was in the middle, propped up on his elbows.

“Help me forget for a while,” Oliver whispered.

They hadn’t turned a light on, but the large, south-facing windows allowed the cheery blue sky to provide plenty of illumination, allowing Oliver to see every detail as Priest followed his lead, holding his gaze as he got rid of his own clothing and then prowled up the bed until he hovered over Oliver’s body.

“We’ll find him,” Priest said, his quiet voice sounding loud in their silent bedroom, but the words sank into Oliver, beneath his skin and muscles, directly into the marrow of his bones.

Priest wasn’t just telling him something to make him feel better. He meant it. He believed it. He would do everything in his power to make sure it came true.

“I know.” Oliver fell back against the mattress, spreading his arms and legs, welcoming his lust Demon easily. “I believe you.”

Priest’s eyes darkened further, not completely black, but the whites were a dark gray, haunting in their beauty. He knew from his readings that Demons—Incubi especially—had been ostracized for over a century, even within the supernatural community. He knew their black eyes were feared, but all Oliver felt when he saw them was safe.

Well, that and a healthy dose of lust.

Priest closed the distance between them, taking his mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. Neither one of them was in a rush like they usually were when their passions became so heightened they could barely control themselves.

Instead, they spent long minutes tasting each other, Oliver’s hands running along Priest’s sides as he slowly lowered himself down on top of Oliver’s body. In that moment, he knew what it felt like to be consumed.

He also knew he would give everything of himself—including the last spark of his soul—if his Demon asked him for it.

But Priest never would. He would never be so careless or selfish.

The languid kisses went on forever until Priest finally started to move down his body, pausing for achingly drawn-out moments on all his favorite spots. The side of his neck, his collarbones, nipples, and the small protrusion of his belly button.

Oliver was squirming against the mattress by the time Priest ran his forked tongue up the underside of his cock and then wrapped it around him just beneath his weeping head. He threw his head back, crying out in ecstasy as Priest touched him so gently with his fingertips and took him apart with his lips and teeth and tongue.

Gods, his tongue.

One day, Oliver would write a fucking sonnet about it. Just as he reached the edge, his orgasm building to a fever pitch inside him, Priest stopped, shuffling back up the bed and taking his mouth once more, swallowing his groans of frustration. He kissed him deeply as he slowly fingered Oliver open, preparing his body and driving him mad.

When Priest finally sank inside him, filling him in that delicious, over-the-top way he’d never get enough of, Oliver scraped his nails down his back, and then gripped at his firm ass, pulling at him to try and get him deeper.

Priest hushed him, murmuring to him to relax and just enjoy, but relaxing wasn’t something he could do anymore, not when Priest had wound him up so tightly. But he did loosen his grip, doing his best to try and touch every inch of Priest’s skin, taste the sweat on his neck, see the lust burning in his black eyes.

He was present in the moment, completely and utterly aware of his Demon in a way he never had been with a partner before. It felt like he was opening his soul to him, allowing him inside his body and all the rest of him, every last corner. All the walls inside him crumbled to the ground, every door thrown open. There was nothing barring Priest from accessing every tiny bit of him.

Groaning, Priest dropped his head down into his neck, and Oliver could faintly feel him begin to siphon off some of his desire, feeding off him, allowing Oliver to sustain him in the most primal way.

It drove his desire even higher, pushing him over the edge. When Priest gave one last hard thrust before spilling inside him, ecstasy washed over Oliver in waves, taking him under and filling him up. He could feel when Priest took one more hard draw from him. And as he did, something shifted inside. It was like the strength of Priest’s feeding moved Oliver’s insides around, reconfiguring him in a new way and locking things into place that had been displaced.

His eyes slowly opened, and he stared at the ceiling, one hand carding through Priest’s hair, the other gently stroking his sweat-slicked back. The euphoria from his orgasm began to fade, but he barely even noticed. He could feel it now, that thing inside him that Priest and Caspian had been talking about all week. A well he could dip into and access pure power. It was thrumming inside him now, exploring every inch beneath his skin, making his toes and fingers tingle.

Priest made a soft grunting noise, not lifting his head from Oliver’s neck. “What’s that?”

Oliver smiled, eyes still on the ceiling, a strip of sunlight lighting up the pale blue color. “I think I’ll be able to find him now.”

Priest lifted his head, his eyes sleepy and brow scrunched in confusion. “What?”

Oliver laid a hand over his thrumming heart. “I can feel it now. My power. Let’s go get Poe.”