Page 22 of Priest

Luckily, he didn’t remember any of it, so he didn’t have to deal with the trauma of knowing what was on the other side. It was like he’d taken a very long, very powerful nap, and he’d woken up in the arms of the one person he’d wanted for far too long.

Gods, he wished Poe was there to relentlessly mock him over Priest feeding him soup and combing his hair.

His chest hurt from missing and worrying endlessly about his friend.

He washed his face with trembling hands and grimaced at the state of himself. Priest had helped him get in and out of the shower, but washing was a huge chore, and he’d only managed to scrub the sweat from his hair twice in the last week. He wanted a long, hot soak in a tub, but more than that, he wanted to get away from the bed.

His legs felt barely strong enough to support his weight, but he managed to make his way down the stairs and followed his nose to the scent of toasting bread. He couldn’t get over how big Priest’s place was. It was obviously a very cushy job working for royal families and the like. Oliver wasn’t exactly jealous, but he’d grown up in a cult that found any semblance of wealth akin to the worst sin a human could commit.

Well, almost the worst.

They would have considered hisbiggestsin to be lusting after a Demon. It almost made him smile to think about what his parents might have said. Their idea of love was cruelty and hate, and he was more than grateful every day that he’d escaped them.

Even now, hurt and very lonely, there was nothing to miss except Poe.

“I need to tell his parents,” Oliver whispered to himself as he turned a corner and found himself in a large kitchen full of black cabinets, marble counters, and stainless steel appliances. His heart gave a little staccato beat against his ribs when he foundPriest leaning over the sink, his head bowed, hand curled around a wineglass full of something very shiny and very white.

Oliver had never seen anything like it before, and it made his skin itch.

“What is that?”

Priest jolted and spun, giving Oliver an almost hysterical and very guilty laugh. “This? Oh, it’s… well. It’s a… it’s nothing.”

Oliver peered around him to find a bottle he did recognize, only because he dealt in things like that—rare books and magics. And Fae magic was the rarest. He blinked at Priest as his tired brain connected the dots.

“Tell me you’re not drinking that.”

“I’m not drinking that,” Priest said, like he was incapable of disobeying Oliver. Then, he tipped the glass back and drained it in one go.

Oliver spluttered, and surprising himself with his own speed, he was at Priest’s side and reaching for the bottle. Priest’s eyes had gone black from the magic, and they widened at him, though he seemed too stunned to do anything but watch as Oliver grabbed the bottle and heaved it into the sink. The glass shattered, but the white liquid hit the metal and sizzled, turning to smoke and drifting into the air. Oliver waved his hand, helping it to disperse so they didn’t breathe in too much.

“Shit,” Priest whispered, sounding brokenhearted. “What did you do?”

“Saved you from yourself, you moron,” Oliver snapped. “Do you have any idea how dangerous drinking that is?”

“Do you have any idea how dangerousIcan be?” Priest’s eyes seemed even blacker somehow, hypnotic if Oliver wasn’t so furious at his recklessness. “Do you even know what it was?”

Oliver scoffed, then stumbled. His legs went weak, and in spite of Priest’s very real anger, he caught him and lifted him likehe weighed nothing. “It’s poison,” he said, lifting his chin despite being held like a child. “It could kill you.”

Priest bared his teeth, and they were… sharper as he set him on a barstool. “It might not have been the best thing for me, but it was protecting you.”

Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Protecting me? From what?”

“From me. My hunger is…” He swallowed thickly, glancing away as the blackness seeped away from his eyes. “I had to let you heal before I could go out and feed. It was the only thing that took the edge off.”

Oliver felt his heart sink. He knew what hunger could do to an Incubus. He knew that eventually, it would drive him mad because someday, he wouldn’t be satisfied without taking a life. And Priest would never do that. It would be the end of him. He’d allow himself to starve to death.

Or he’d order the agents of Trident to kill him. Either way was too painful to think about. Oliver wanted to weep. But he also knew that would be decades from now, if not centuries.

“I have to call Azriel,” Priest said, sounding exhausted.

“You’re not bringing more of that shit into this house,” Oliver said. “Fae wine will ruin you.”

“He doesn’t have more,” Priest replied, pulling out his phone. “But now that he’s juiced back up from healing you, he can sit with you while I feed.”

Oliver opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but Priest kept talking, trying to reassure him, even though he was so wrong about what was upsetting him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bring someone in the house,” Priest said, making a face. “And I’ll stay close by, but while I’m feeding, I’m unaware of what’s happening around me, and I won’t be able to sense if it if you’re in danger. With Azriel here, you won’t be defenseless.”

---