Page 18 of Priest

“And used his dad’s name and resources to recruit others to help.”

Azriel threw back half his drink. “Lovely people all around.”

Jeremiah side-eyed the Angel before focusing on Priest. “There’s clearly a connection between what happened today and McCornal’s bullshit. Not to mention…”

Priest understood what he wasn’t saying. What Knight had endured was likely part of it. That was something they’d always kept at the back of their minds. The few details Knight had shared—or maybe he couldn’t remember most of what happened—always made them believe there was something bigger behind it. Definitely bigger than infecting one random person with Vampirism and then seemingly letting him go.

Knight had survived, but none of them had believed it was over.

“What do we do?” Priest asked.

Jeremiah looked torn. “For now, I think you need to take Oliver somewhere safe. He’s clearly a target, and being here isn’t going to help. Azriel’s drained for now, and I don’t have the resources to create stronger wards.”

Priest barked a laugh. “Where the fuck do you suggest I take him? Headquarters? Everyone will be looking for him there, and he can’t be left alone in a safe hou?—”

Jeremiah lifted both brows.

“No,” Priest said. “No. Fuck no, even. A great big, grand, shining, sparkly hell no?—”

“Why not?” Jeremiah said, cutting him off.

Priest threw up his hands. “Because I… He’s… I’m… If he’s there, and my things… and his scent, and…”

“He’s in love,” Azriel said loudly from behind his glass.

Priest narrowed his eyes at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Please. Everyone knows. You’re not exactly Captain Subtle.”

Jeremiah looked thoughtful. “Give me one good reason why.”

Priest felt himself crack and then shatter. “I can’t control it. I’ll feed on him and drain him, and I’d rather fucking die, okay? I’m starving, and it’s getting harder to stay satisfied.”

The words hung in the air around them for a long moment, Jeremiah studying him, but Priest couldn’t meet his eyes. Laying his shame and failure out for the man he respected more than any other to see was slowly killing him.

“Priest…”

He flinched at the growly understanding in his voice. He didn’t want his best friend’s fucking pity. They just needed to understand why Priest couldn’t be alone with Oliver in his house.

Jeremiah looked at Azriel, his expression helpless in a way that sliced through Priest’s chest, and the Angel sighed and reached behind the bar, producing a small frosted glass bottle adorned in a way Priest had rarely ever seen.

“You can’t use it forever, but you can use it long enough for Oliver to heal. Then you willhaveto feed. And I mean far more than what you’ve been taking,” Azriel warned, his voice a low rumble.

Priest wanted to say no, and all the gods save him, he wanted to say yes because he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance like this again. He was smitten with the human, and he doubted he’d ever feel this way about another creature ever again. If he was capable of being lucky enough to have a fated mate, Oliver would be his.

He had no idea how he knew that—he just did.

His hand crept across the bar, and very carefully, very slowly, he curled his fingers around the neck. It was cool to the touch, and his body hummed for more of what he’d just consumed. “How long will it take me to detox?”

“If you feed sufficiently,” Azriel said, “a matter of hours.”

And if he didn’t, well…

“Get him a sedative for the drive,” Priest said. “And safe transport.”

“I’ve got Slate on it,” Jeremiah said. “And I’ve got two of the guys from Bravo working on your townhouse now.”

Priest turned his gaze up to the ceiling and wished he could see through the walls. But somehow, he knew Oliver was still sleeping, still healing. And he could only hope the drink was enough to get him through until Oliver was well enough to protect himself.

---