Page 13 of Priest

He forced himself to sit partway up. “No. I’m?—”

“Lay down,” Priest shouted, then slapped his hand over his mouth while using the other one to forcibly shove Oliver back to the sheets. Oliver stared at him with wide eyes as Priest snatched his hand back and stared at it like the thing was possessed. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. But don’t move. Please? Because you’re hurt, and…where the hell is that water!”

Oliver managed to lift his arm and pressed his hand over his eyes. His head was pounding. “Can you,” he rasped, “maybe… not scream right now?”

He heard the sound of Priest slapping his mouth again and then muffled words against his palm. Gods, why was he so head over heels for this disaster Demon?

Another beat later, Oliver heard the door creak open, and he dropped his hand, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw Azriel leaning in the doorway holding a frosty glass bottle of Siren Water. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Oliver managed a scowl, and as he tried to push himself up, Priest was instantly at his side, offering his very warm, very strong arms. Oliver did his best not to melt, considering the situation seemed pretty damned dire.

“Here,” Azriel said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He twisted off the aluminum cap and helped Oliver take a few sips. The water was the perfect temperature, and the healing properties began to ease some of the internal aches. When he tried to move again though, pain shot through him, and he collapsed back against Priest.

“Easy,” Azriel said, setting the bottle on the table. “You basically just died, so no marathons.”

Oliver sucked in a breath and fought off a coughing fit. “I’m sorry. Iwhat?”

Azriel and Priest exchanged a look, and Priest’s arms tightened around him, giving Oliver comfort he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

The Angel took a breath, then asked, “What do you remember?”

Oliver’s brow furrowed. Everything was so… foggy and off, like he’d been sleeping for too long. What had he been doing? “I was at the shop. I came to see you,” he recounted. There was something else he was missing. “The club was pretty dead.”

Azriel sighed. “Mhm. Remember why?”

Oliver started to shake his head, wincing at the pain, but a memory slammed into him. “Something… something was wrong. I felt it.” He lifted a weak, trembling hand and pressed it to his sternum. “I ran out. I… I don’t…I think my shop is gone.”

“Yeah,” Priest whispered, and Oliver felt a sudden, crushing grief. “I’m so sorry.”

Closing his eyes, Oliver leaned back into Priest’s arms and took a few trembling breaths. “Poe must be so pissed.” It was the silence that was so telling—the tension in the air. Oliver opened his eyes and looked between them. “Tell me he’s woken up.”

Azriel couldn’t meet his gaze, and Oliver felt like his soul was trying to escape his body. There was no way. No way in any level of hell that Poe was?—

“We haven’t been allowed in the shop yet to look for his body, but…”

“No,” Oliver said. No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t right. Not just because he refused to lose Poe but because he could feel it. He’d know if Poe was gone, and that just wasn’t the case. “You’re wrong.”

Azriel looked like he wanted to cry. It was an expression that might have broken Oliver’s heart if he hadn’t known deep in hissoul that Poe was still alive. “There’s no chance he survived that, Oliver. I’m so sorry.”

Oliver shook his head and tried to wriggle out of Priest’s arms, but the Demon was refusing to let him go. “You didn’t even look for him. He could be hurt! He’s not dead, but he might be bleeding out, and?—”

“He’s gone,” came a voice from the doorway.

All of them looked over, and Oliver’s eyes rested on Easton, the Dragon he’d met once or twice when he’d come around with Priest. He was very tall and gorgeous, with massive shoulders, short dark curls, and brown skin that shone with barely-there scales whenever he turned just right in the late afternoon sun. His eyes were narrowed and serious, his mouth tipped down.

“What do you mean?” Priest asked, running a hand down Oliver’s bare arm. The gesture might have been soothing if Oliver hadn’t been reeling from the news that his entire life had just been blown to bits.

Easton sighed. “Just that. Knight and I got access to the building after Sunshine made some calls. There’s no body. But the blast destroyed pretty much everything. I don’t know what kind of weapon they used?—”

“One that could have done significant damage even to an Angel,” Azriel said, sounding furious.

“Thank you, Storm,” Priest said quietly. He bowed his head, his nose resting very close to Oliver’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re sorry. There’s no body.”

“There’s a damn good chance the explosion…” the Dragon didn’t finish his sentence.

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