Page 19 of Priest

Then, Priest would deal with the consequences of his choices alone.

As he was always meant to do.

Oliver was half-sedated when he agreed to the trip, and luckily, Priest had a town house not too far from the border, so the drive was less than an hour. Priest lived in a gated community that had official royal protection, but he wasn’t there often since it was more convenient during certain cases and missions to stay at HQ. He and Storm both tended to stay there, but Jeremiah had always preferred his own space—and now, his cozy little house he shared with the prince—and Knight started getting fangy if he didn’t get enough alone time to decompress.

Plus, it’d be hard for him to take care of his damn moths if he was staying in a skyscraper.

Slate had…familyobligations that made it more convenient for him to stay in Averna most of the time.

He pulled his bulletproof SUV into his garage, watching until the door was fully closed behind him before getting out and retrieving Oliver from the back seat.

The place was dark and a little musty from the infrequent cleaning service, but Slate had arranged for a delivery of supplies for Oliver—mainly food and a few medicines that would be safe for a human to consume.

Priest managed to get Oliver up the stairs and into the master bedroom, which, arguably, had the most comfortable bed, and he was snoring quietly as Priest took his second dose of the Fae wine. He noticed almost immediately the effects weren’t as strong, but he also noticed that while the bottle didn’t replenish itself completely, it replenished itself some.

Which was probably what made it more dangerous.

Living like this, he could see himself offering his name—or several years of his life—in order to take the edge off his hunger. In fact, the absence of it was almost heady. It wasn’t something he’d known since he was very young, and by the gods, he wished it could be like that always.

He was terrified of what was coming, but he’d make do. Oliver needed rest, and Priest would give that little human literally anything in order to keep him safe.

He showered just after midnight before picking the closest guest room to sleep in. He woke twice for a drink, but Oliver hadn’t stirred. It wasn’t until morning that Priest could hear him rustling around, so he forced his heavy limbs to carry him to the kitchen.

Oliver was in no condition to walk anywhere, so he took his time putting together an appropriate breakfast for a human—at least, he was pretty sure. He wasn’t actually sure what humans preferred for each meal or how much of it, so he went with what he liked.

He stared at the tray with an entire pot of tea—and one of coffee, just in case—six oranges, two apples, half a loaf of toasted bread with raspberry jam the royals had sent him away with—the twins had told their parents Priest loved it, so they’dbasically given him a lifetime supply, the little shits laughing their heads off as he’d been forced to take it with a smile as he planned his retaliation in his head—and a rasher of bacon.

Was it enough? Oliver needed to heal, and his body would need fuel for that… He decided he could always get more if Oliver was still hungry after he finished.

Priest carefully balanced the tray in his hands and made his way into the master bedroom. Light was filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and Oliver was sitting halfway up, looking put out.

“I’m about to literally piss in your bed, and I can still barely feel my legs.”

Priest rushed to set the tray down on the edge of the mattress, then scooped Oliver into his arms and marched toward the bathroom.

“Uh, the fuck?” Oliver demanded.

Priest smirked down at him. “I don’t know how to work the laundry in this place, and we can’t have cleaners coming in here, so you get to piss in the toilet like a big boy.”

“I’m going to cut your head off,” Oliver snarled.

Priest threw his head back and laughed as he kicked the door open and plopped Oliver down on the toilet. He took a step back and folded his arms as Oliver glowered up at him. “Well?”

Oliver’s eyes widened in fake innocence. “Do you use the toilet? I mean, you must.”

“Yes,” Priest said slowly.

“Do you do it with your fucking pants on?” Oliver hissed.

Priest flushed. “Right. Let me just…”

“Hands off,” Oliver said, batting him away. “Just leave the door cracked open. And if you hear a crash, give me thirty seconds to preserve my dignity before you come in.”

Priest swallowed and nodded, then let himself out and rested the back of his head against the wall with a soft thud.

“And for the sake of all the gods, don’t listen,” Oliver shouted, exasperation bleeding through the door.

Priest threw himself away from the bathroom and paced in front of the bed until he heard Oliver call his name. He took tentative steps toward the doorway, then peered around the jamb.

---