Page 2 of Priest

“Well, well, well. Look what the… hmm,whodragged you in here today? Was it an awkwardly adorable human who runs a shop across the street?”

The voice accompanied a cloud of smoke that was most definitely not tobacco. It was something foreign and spicy, like it came from one of the Dragon kingdoms. Azriel leaned over the bar and smiled at Priest. He looked the way he always did: paleand muscular, like he was cut from ancient marble. His messy, blond hair hung over his forehead, just a little too long, though it gave him an innocent boyish look, which was immediately ruined by the blunt clenched between his teeth.

He was shirtless, like always, wearing impossibly tight jeans and ice-blue glittery eyeshadow that made him look doe-eyed and naïve. Not that anyone who spent more than five minutes with Azriel would believe that, but it was one of the reasons people had believed Angels were kind and loving for so many generations after they began to fall and live amongst earthbound society.

“I need a drink,” Priest said, ignoring his friend’s words. He did not need to be given shit tonight about the human. Even if Azriel was mostly right.

Azriel rolled his eyes, but he reached under the bar and came up with a moderately clean highball glass and used his hands to throw in a few cubes of ice. Priest stared him dead in the face as Azriel lifted the whiskey bottle and filled the cup halfway.

“Want to start a tab?” the Angel asked.

Priest scoffed. “I’m not paying for your shitty liquor.” He snatched the glass and took a long sip. It tasted like piss, but he choked it down for the sake of it. He had no ability to get drunk, but Gargoyle liquor did dull his senses, and today, he needed it.

“How’s the whole”—Azriel wiggled ring-covered fingers at him—“hero thing going?”

His shoulders tensed, and Priest knew what was coming. The Angel leapt, and though his wings weren’t visible at the moment, the rush of wind battered Priest as they helped to lift Azriel into the air so he could land on top of the bar with his legs neatly crossed.

Priest focused on Azriel’s knee, which was showing through a rip in his jeans. There was a dark curl of ink on his skin, and even over the scent of arousal and sweat, he could catch hints that thetattoo was fresh, which meant a touch of something so alluring his mouth watered: Angel blood.

He fought the urge to press his finger against the tattoo to see if it would hurt his friend.

“Same as it was last week,” he finally answered. “Jeremiah’s barely able to tear his focus from the prince, Knight’s quietly having a panic attack that something bigger’s going on, Slate’s still off on hissuper-secretassignment, and Storm’s grumpy because he had to visit his brother’s Hoard.”

And Priest was left in the city, trying to hold all the pieces together.

Azriel hummed softly as he stretched his legs out and let his knees press on either side of Priest’s biceps. The Angel leaned back on his elbows, tipping his head toward the ceiling. There were two bodies suspended above them, but Priest wasn’t going to look. By the waves of lust he was getting, he didn’t need to in order to know what was going on.

The horndog that he was, Azriel licked his lips, his pupils dilating and dick hardening twelve inches from Priest’s face. He refused to move back, knowing the Angel wasn’t really coming on to him. He just got bored and liked to push to see if he could get Priest to crack sometimes.

There was a surge of Angelic power, and a high-pitched, feminine voice cried out, practically showering Priest in pheromones as she orgasmed for a long minute, a masculine grunting growing louder and getting faster.

Priest couldn’t even imagine how much the couple had paid to get played with like this by the dirty fallen Angel who ran the place.

As if nothing had happened, Azriel focused his softly glowing eyes on Priest and tilted his head to the side. “Whose side are you on?”

“Knight’s,” Priest answered without thinking.

Fucking Angels, always loosening his tongue. They were the only Supes who had the ability to enthrall him, and his only saving grace was that Azriel was one of his best friends and never did it to hurt him.

“He’s paranoid after all the shit he went through, but I think he’s onto something.” He glared right at his gorgeous face. “Also fucking stop that.”

Azriel blinked, and his soft grip on Priest’s brain released. He shot him a wide, unapologetic smile as he snatched his drink out of his hand and swallowed down half.

Setting the glass on the bar, he scooted closer to the edge and touched the underside of Priest’s jaw with one finger. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Priest muttered. And he meant it. Right now, it was just a quiet itch. His sessions here at the club kept him functional but never satisfied. No one who frequented the club was strong enough to keep him properly fed for more than a few meals at most.

“You could always book me.” Azriel gave him a shit-eating grin, running his straight white teeth over his bottom lip.

Except maybe the Angel, but that was abadidea.

“I’d probably kill us both. And half the city.”

“Yeah, but what a ride, right?” Azriel shivered and winked—like the idea of their mutually assured destruction was something he found positively delicious—then swung a foot up and pressed his bare toes with black polish into the center of Priest’s chest. “Time to go, my little sex Demon.”

Priest blinked at him. “Excuse you?”

“You’re sitting here wasting time when we both know you want to be next door flirting with your adorable bespectacled human. Your woe-is-me attitude is bringing the whole place down.”

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