Page 27 of Priest

Heat began to build inside his veins, and his fingers and shoulder blades tingled with a phantom desire to do…something. Anger that wasn’t his own and yetwasat the same time flooded his chest, cracking him open to make room for something big and powerful.

“What’s… happening…” Oliver clutched at his sternum, his breathing becoming labored as the force pressed against his lungs and heart and up into his throat. “Azriel…”

“Shhh. Don’t fight it.” Warm, gentle hands cupped his face as the wind in the room eased back down to nothing. “It’s time to wake up, little brother.”

“I don’t?—”

Azriel lifted two glowing fingers and tapped his forehead.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

“There you are. How are you feeling?”

Oliver rubbed at his face and squinted at the bright room around him. His head ached like he and Poe had drunk too many shots playing Never Have I Ever again. Gods, why did he let that little asshole talk him into doing dumb shit like that?

Wait.

That wasn’t right.

Poe was…

He sat up, nearly smoking Azriel in the face with his head, and glanced around. The den looked exactly the same, and so did he. Carefully, he touched his chest, but he couldn’t feel the swelling power anymore. He just felt like… him.

“What happened?”

“Apart from confirming my theory was correct—as I usually am—you were unconscious for a little while.”

Something about his arrogant tone triggered a memory. Azriel fucking with him—using powers on him. Something heavy in his chest trying to claw its way out. He glanced at the Angel’s smirk and remembered something else. “I’m still pissed at you too.”

Azriel’s head tipped back with his chuckle. “I’m sure you are, little brother.”

Little brother… It’s time to wake up…

“I’m not going to ask again. What happened?”

“You woke up.” Azriel leaned back against the couch, one knee crooked up, his arm resting over it. “I’ve suspected for a while that you weren’t fully human, but I thought it might just be us rubbing off on you. So to speak.”

“Don’t,” Oliver warned, in no mood for his crude sex jokes.

Azriel held up his hands in surrender, and his tone shifted into something far less playful. “I’m being serious. I’ve been drawn to you since I met you. I thought it was because you were an ally—and trust me when I say I treasure my human allies. But the longer you were here, the more I started to wonder. Today proved it.”

“That I’m not human?” Oliver couldn’t help his bitter laugh. “Do you know who my family is, Az? There’s not a chance in hell.”

“The most bigoted families have the deepest secrets, Oliver.” Azriel dropped his legs to the floor and stood up, pacing in front of him. “I’ve seen it a thousand times, and usually it doesn’t matter, but that’s because I haven’t seen a descendant from an Angel in a long, long time.”

Oliver’s ears began to ring. An Angel? There was no chance in hell.

“Trust me, it makes sense. You were drawn to me, weren’t you? You’re not the kind of man who frequents clubs like mine. Not for fun. You’d come over to drink a fizzy water and sort your taxes, darling.”

Oliver’s cheeks went hot. Azriel wasn’t wrong, and Oliver couldn’t really explain it. The club felt like home. Except… maybe it wasn’t the club. Maybe it was because Azriel was there. Fuck, no, he could not be entertaining this.

“I’m human.”

“Not entirely.” Azriel dropped beside him and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Those feelings you get in your gut? Humans don’t have those. Or, if they do, they’re called paranoia and treated with medication. Yours are real. You know they are. Your little premonitions always come true.”

Oliver tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “I’m… how…”

“My guess is that a grandparent or a great-grandparent had a little tryst. I’m not the only Angel around who likes to?—”

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