Page 15 of Priest

With a small sigh, Oliver turned toward the nightstand and saw a small vial sitting beside the little digital clock. He’d seen something like it before. Poe liked to keep a nice stock of magical treatments along with human ones. Magic was always iffy on their kind—sometimes, it worked too well; other times, it made them sick. But he trusted Azriel to know what he could and couldn’t take.

Mostly.

But he didn’t have much to lose at this point.

Oliver grabbed the potion, uncorked it, and grimaced at the smell. It wasn’t particularly bad—it was just chock-full of so much lavender it smelled like his adoptive mom’s fancy soap in her guest bathroom. Saying a small prayer to whatever god might be listening, Oliver pinched his nose and tipped it all down his throat.

“You’re a literal child,” came a voice from the doorway.

Oliver set the vial down and looked over at Azriel, who seemed not quite himself. Almost rattled, which wasn’t something Oliver ever expected to see.

“It’s disgusting,” he said with a sniff.

Azriel attempted a smile, but it fell short, and a beat later, he was across the room and dropping down to Oliver’s side. Barely able to get a breath in, Oliver found himself crushed against the Angel’s chest, the powerful hands holding him like he might fall to pieces.

“Hey,” Oliver said after a beat. “Is everything okay?”

Azriel sniffed and pulled back. “Don’t you ever, ever fucking do that to me again, okay? I’m not actually a Guardian Angel. I’m just some piece of shit who owns a strip club. I’m not good at the whole”—he waved his hand—“being good thing.”

Oliver’s chest warmed a little. “Didn’t know you cared. And for what it’s worth, you’re better at it than you think.”

Azriel punched him in the arm hard enough to hurt, laughing when Oliver scowled. “Shut up. I don’t care about a lot of people. You and Poe are different. Special. He’s…” His voice cracked, and Oliver quickly grabbed Azriel’s hand.

“He’s not dead.”

“You didn’t see the blast,” Azriel argued. “There was no way he survived it. Honey, I am so sorry, but?—”

“No,” Oliver interrupted again. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it, but he’s not dead.”

Azriel closed his eyes in a long, slow blink. “Death is hard to accept. Trust me, I get that more than most, and I don’t wish this kind of pain on anyone. But at some point, you need to face the reality of this situation.”

Oliver flopped back down, covering his face with both hands. “If I could walk right now, I’d get out of this fucking bed and lead all of you to him.”

Azriel was very quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat. “You know where he is?”

Oliver groaned and peered at the Angel through his fingers. “Well, no, but I can feel him. Don’t ask me how. I just… can. It’s like having a second heartbeat or something. He’s alive, but he’s in danger, and I hate that we’re sitting around on our asses when he needs our help.”

“That’s the grief, babes,” Azriel said.

Oliver was too tired to argue, and he realized that the potion was kicking in because his limbs were as heavy as stones. “What did you give me?” His tongue struggled to form words.

“The good shit. Gargoyle shit,” Azriel said. “It won’t heal you, but it’ll let your body rest so it can heal itself.”

“Being human sucks,” Oliver mumbled.

Azriel let out a hum that sounded off. Like there was something Azriel wasn’t saying. But his head was far too foggy to follow that trail.

“Where’s Priest?”

Azriel laughed and gave him a tiny shake. “Even drugged up and injured, you’re still a little horndog.”

Oliver would have blushed, but the potion was making it impossible to care about shame or propriety. “He held me. Was nice.”

“Oh, I bet. But I sent him out for some supplies. I thought he was fucking awful when he was just hungry. Now, he’s hungry and stressed,” Azriel said with a small sigh.

Oliver forced his eyes open. “Hungry?”

“You know how he feeds, babes. Right?”

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