Page 12 of Priest

“When,” Priest whispered.

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

Only. As if Oliver wasonlyanything.

“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.

4

OLIVER

Warm. God, he was sowarm, and everything around him was so soft. Except… no. It was hot. Everything was hot, and he wasburning, and…

Oliver’s eyes opened, his breath stuttering in his chest as he tried to gasp for air. Everything around him was unfamiliar, and the first thing he became aware of was the pain. He couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from because it felt like every single muscle was on fire.

“Mrrfpfh.” He wasn’t sure what he’d tried to say, but that was the odd noise that escaped his lips. But a second later, a hand touched his, and some of the agony began to ease.

Azriel? He was the only creature Oliver knew who could heal, and… wait. Wasn’t he with Azriel? Shit, where was he? How did he get there, and what in the name of all the gods had happened?

“Hey. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Ten minutes ago—or was it maybe ten hours or ten years—Oliver would have given his right arm to hear that voice. He managed to turn his head, and he found Priest on his knees beside the bed he was lying on in an unfamiliar room. Oliver tried to lick his lips, but his tongue felt like sandpaper.

“What…” He got the single word out before he started choking.

Priest was on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs for water before Oliver had time to react.

---