Page 21 of Priest

“Start again,” Oliver insisted, taking a large bite out of one of the halves of orange. “Don’t make assumptions because youknow me. You need to look at all the pieces before you put the picture together.”

Priest sucked in a sharp breath. Gods, the way Oliver’s mind worked had always fascinated him, but the fact he could still see clearly through his grief and anger and call Priest out on it? His whole body began to heat with hunger and desire.

“I will. You’re right,” Priest said softly, running his teeth over his lower lip as he watched Oliver carefully devour his fruit. “While we do that, you need to stay here though. If your shop wasn’t a message to us and you were targeted specifically, that’s even more reason to keep you tucked away here where you’re safe.”

“At least until I’m healed up and can walk again,” Oliver said as he finished half of the orange, then moved on to some of the toast. “Then you can use me as bait while I look for Poe.”

Priest almost choked on his tongue. “I’m sorry. Repeat that, but do it in a way where you aren’t talking like the blast knocked all the sense out of you.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to just sit here on my ass when someone has my best friend.”

“Oliver,” Priest said very softly.

His eyes narrowed. “No. Nothing you can say will convince me that he’s not alive. I feel it. I don’t know why or how, but that doesn’t fucking matter.” He rubbed at his sternum, and then he met Priest’s gaze. “Tell me you’re going to try to stop me. I dare you.”

Priest wanted to rise to that challenge, but before he could, Oliver grimaced, and the bed began to tremble with his leg spasms. He cried out softly, and Priest was immediately kneeling next to him, moving the tray and rubbing his hands firmly over Oliver’s shaking thighs and calves.

“Hey,” he whispered softly. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Oliver groaned, flopping back. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Priest murmured. “But it’ll be okay. This is a good sign.”

Oliver swallowed heavily, and when Priest started to stand, he caught his wrist. “Don’t go.”

“I was just going to get you something for the pain,” Priest said, putting his hand over Oliver’s.

“No. I’m tired of feeling like my head’s in a cloud. Just… can you sit with me? Can you…” He hesitated, biting his lip.

“Anything,” Priest said, kneeling once more. In spite of himself, in spite of all manner of self-preservation he should have been using, he lifted Oliver’s hand from his and kissed his knuckles. “Just ask. You can have anything.”

Oliver breathed out. “Hold me for a little while. It feels better when you do.”

Priest’s hunger flared up, like a beast rising from the abyss to swallow the world whole, but he shoved it down with every ounce of his power and carefully slid beside Oliver. Once Oliver was asleep again, he could take more of the Fae potion; he just needed to hold on until then. A small, fragile human body curled into his own, and Priest wrapped his arms around him. He’d never brought comfort to another being before—not… not really. Not like this. He and Jeremiah used to huddle for warmth when they were on the streets, and Priest often hugged and snuggled against his teammates whenheneeded the tactile reassurance.

But that was almost always for him, not the others. His Demon always wanted more touch, more food, more warmth, and Priest needed the peace and safety he felt when near the only people he trusted in the world.

This was very different from that.

He buried his nose in Oliver’s hair and breathed him in. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Get some rest. You’ll be walking soon enough.”

Oliver nodded, murmuring something into Priest’s shirt, and not too long after, he was boneless and heavy against him. He settled Oliver more firmly against his chest, then offered a quiet thanks to the gods who allowed him to have this moment.

It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t.

But for a moment in his long, lonely life, he let himself be selfish.

6

OLIVER

It had taken exactly six days of choking down whatever the hell Azriel had sent Priest home with for him, but Oliver was finally able to stand on his own. Not that he exactly minded the last week of being doted on. Priest was exactly the way Oliver had expected him to be—a complete disaster of overattentiveness that often led to him literally tripping over himself to help.

It only made Oliver’s feelings worse, and it was the one thing that kept him from hyperfixating on the fact that Poe was out there somewhere, probably injured and definitely in trouble—because it wasn’t like his best friend had gotten lost. He’d been taken, and that was haunting Oliver to the point he was driving himself insane with his inability to do anything about it.

Even now that he could walk himself to the bathroom and take a piss without Priest carrying him, he still wasn’t strong enough to leave. He would be, but the gods only knew when that would happen. His healing was a slow climb, and he was profoundly aware that he’d almost died.

Or, to hear Azriel tell it, he had basically died, and the Angel had brought him back from the edge of the veil.

---