Page 61 of Priest

Horror washing through him, Priest’s knees went weak. “We can’t let them find their child like this.”

Jeremiah shook his head and tapped the comm in his ear. “We need two members from Charlie for a body extraction. High-profile client. This cannot get out.”

Priest swallowed thickly. “Do you think this is what Knight?—”

“Yes,” Jeremiah said, cutting him off. His voice was tense with emotion. “Yes, I do.”

Priest couldn’t imagine what his friend had endured. Or why. What was the point of all this? It couldn’t be torment for fun, but why would they take ordinary citizens? Children? He didn’t want to think that they were doing this all in some sick attempt to turn humans into Vampires, and it seemed so pointless. Vampires were not welcomed in society, so why amass more of them?

After all, the people running the labs were humans. He could sense it, their emotions lingering on the air. What purpose would it serve?

Before he could voice all of that, he heard something—a scuffling sound behind heavy metal. Jeremiah’s head whipped to the side, and he jerked his chin at a massive cabinet. Priest rushed over and grabbed the sides, using all of his strength to pull it off the wall. Hinges tore, and there was a passageway behind it.

In the distance, he could hear shoes on concrete.

“Sounds like someone we want to talk to,” Jeremiah growled, smoke rising from his shoulders.

They took off like a shot, the gift of their preternatural speed allowing them to catch up in seconds. Two men were just reaching a massive opening—a parking garage with a single car and several oil stains from those who had been coming andgoing for years, most likely. There was no telling how long they’d been running this lab.

Jeremiah smiled wolfishly at them as Priest tasted their acrid fear in the air. He half shifted, his skin alighting with Hellfire. “Going somewhere?”

They said nothing.

“We just want a word.”

The men glanced at each other, so Priest took a step forward, but before he could do more than that, there was a sound. It was all-encompassing, high-pitched. It was torture. His hands flew to his ears, and he collapsed, barely able to see Jeremiah doing the same in his periphery.

One of the men took something out of his pocket—a strange, orb-like thing Priest swore he’d seen before. He threw it into the air, and then all Priest knew was pain. It felt like every atom in his body was bursting, over and over. His vision whited out, then began to fade to black.

And it was only the sweet relief of unconsciousness that saved him.

Am I dead?

He wasn’t sure if he spoke the words aloud, but when Priest tried to open his eyes, everything was white. It was also painful, which might mean he was in one of the hell realms—not that he expected to go anywhere else when he died.

From whence he came and all that.

But then he realized the bed beneath him was soft, and a warm hand was holding his, and a honey-sweet voice was whispering into his ear, “Come on, baby. Open your eyes. You need to feed.”

He knew that voice. By the gods, he loved that voice. And the voice was right. He was starved. He groaned, and his vision was dark again, this time with the shadow of a man. He let out a soft hiss, but it was captured by careful lips and a pressing tongue attempting to push past his teeth.

His hunger was overwhelming, his Demon desperate and exhausted. The temptation of that kiss and all the power he could sense behind it was too much to resist. He opened his mouth to accept the gift he was being given. Power rushed through him, familiar and wonderful.

Oliver, his brain supplied. He was kissing Oliver. He was feeding on Oliver.

He pulled back with a gasp, the memory of the compound rushing back. His limbs felt like they weighed several tons, but he managed to push up and yank his beloved against him. “Are you hurt?” he rasped, squinting around, but everything was too blurry to make out.

Oliver shoved him back and forced him to lie down. “No, jackass. Now, lie still. You’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal,” he muttered. And he would. His vision was already beginning to return, and he could finally see Oliver’s face. His sweet human was pale, dark circles under his eyes, a smear of something on his cheek. Blood? No, dirt. “How long was I out?”

“An hour at most,” came a voice from the other side of the room. He knew that one too.Azriel. “I kept my promise.Youdid not.”

Priest wheezed a laugh as he reached for Oliver and pressed his dry knuckles to his equally dry lips. “That was a bit out of my hands.” He groaned as he sat up again, but his strength was already returning. It was enough to resist Oliver when he tried to push him over again. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Oliver was shaking. He pressed into Priest’s embrace and buried his face against his neck. “You looked dead when Slatedragged you in here.” His voice was shaking too. “They didn’t know what happened. You and Jeremiah were unconscious.”

“Those wily little fuckers had a weapon,” Priest growled. He pulled Oliver’s head back and nuzzled against his skin, tasting sweat on his neck. He took another pull of his lust, of his love, letting it ease the pain he was still in.

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