Page 3 of Priest

Priest fought back a sigh at his friend’s mercurial temperament. It wasn’t really Azriel’s fault. He was an unmoored, unbonded Angel with no interest in finding his fated mate, so he couldn’t always control the swings in his mood or how his attention would hop around. It was what made him and his club so popular though.

Priest stared up at him, trying to picture him the way the myths of Angels existed in human society. White robes. Feathered wings. A glowing halo. The lie of kindness in their eyes.

He bit back a snort.

Azriel took a long drag of his spice blunt and blew the smoke into Priest’s face, making his head spin for a second. Fuck, whatever was in that thing was strong as shit. “Seriously. Your pining is getting on my nerves.”

Priest tossed back the last of his drink and stood without really thinking. He wanted to blame Azriel’s thrall for that, but deep down, he knew the truth. He’d met the human from next door—Oliver—several months ago when he’d stumbled into Azriel’s bar looking frazzled and panicked.

For a moment, Priest had thought the human was going to be torn to shreds. Historically, humans weren’t welcome in places like Azriel’s. It was meant to be a safe space for Supes, and humans had a long history of being anything but safe.

Only, it hadn’t happened that way.

Azriel’s face had gone uncharacteristically soft. He’d hopped over the bar and taken Oliver by the shoulders, pulling him into a dark corner and talking to him in a tone so soft not even Priest had been able to make out the words. Priest had watched as all the tension drained from Oliver’s face.

It wasn’t long before Oliver was sitting two stools away from Priest, sipping an odd-looking drink—honest-to-gods glitter swirling around blue liquid. He smiled shyly at Priest, and whilehe wanted desperately to deny it, he couldn’t hide the fact that something deep inside him felt like it was waking up. It was a slow, cautious burning—like the lust he fed on, only… different.

It terrified him and created an obsession that he couldn’t run from.

And there was no trying to pretend like he didn’t come up with the most clumsy and ridiculous excuses to see Oliver every time he came in to feed. It was easier if Oliver was in the club having a drink, but those moments were actually rare, so instead, Priest invented reasons to be in a little human shop to torment himself.

Azriel had been merciless in his teasing since he realized how Priest felt, but he also didn’t understand why Priest wouldn’t actually pursue him, and Priest couldn’t make an Angel understand why he’d never cross that line. Azriel had far more control over his powers than Priest did, and his powers weren’t meant to consume and destroy.

Priest wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let himself get close and Oliver suffered. Some Incubi loved feeding on humans. They loved the rush of being able to drain them. Humans were so responsive, after all. They were bound by their emotions with so little control, and it was a heady rush. But Priest had only sampled that once in his life, long before he dedicated himself to protecting others, and he vowed never again.

It was far too addictive. Far too dangerous.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Priest muttered.

Azriel rolled his eyes and kicked his leg, sending Priest flying. Luckily, he’d been expecting it, so he landed on his feet, only slightly rumpled. He stood, straightening his shirt as he glowered at the smirking Angel and walked back up to the bar.

“This is for your own good,” Azriel said with a shrug, swinging his legs like nothing had happened. He reached behindhim again and came up with a stack of mail, slapping it against Priest’s chest. “Here. I got some mail delivered here for him. Now you have an actual reason to go in there besides stalking him.”

“I’m not stalking him. And unless you want to pay me, I’m not your goddamn errand boy,” Priest growled.

Azriel laughed and flicked the end of his nose, and Priest flinched away. “Keep telling yourself that, gorgeous.”

“I’m going home.”

Azriel stared at the pieces of mail Priest was still holding close to his chest. “Sure you are, bud. Whatever helps you sleep at night—though there’s a pretty little thing next door who could probably do wonders for your insomnia.” He motioned at his mouth with a closed fist, his tongue poking at his cheek.

Priest let his eyes flare black for a second, showing his Demon. “Don’t talk about him like that. I will end you.”

Azriel just winked, then turned his attention to the Siren who’d wandered up to sit at the bar and stare, mouth gaping at the couple still caught in their Angel-induced haze of ecstasy. “Hey, gorgeous. First time at the Pearly Gates?”

Priest knew a dismissal when he saw one.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned, ignoring several stares from the dancers as he made his way toward the exit. The night air was a little too cool on his skin, in spite of the fact that the Siren kingdom was one of the warmer, more humid climates. He shivered and did his best not to glance to the left as he waited for a lull in traffic.

He stared down at the mail in his hands. Most of it looked like pointless junk. He could probably throw it all away, and Oliver wouldn’t miss it.

“Just go,” he muttered to himself. “Slip it through the mail slot and walk away.”

His feet were already moving, his hand reaching for the door handle, and his resolve shattered.

Looking around the empty shop, Priest thought maybe he was going to be unlucky. Then the back door swung open, and his heart gave a single, heavy thud. But it wasn’t the man he was there to see. It was Oliver’s best friend and business partner.

Poe was also good-looking, but he was rugged and sharp where Oliver was delicate and soft. He was just as kind, though, and just as protective of supernaturals as Oliver seemed to be, so Priest had no choice but to like him a little.

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