Page 34 of Priest

He started the coffee machine with the push of a button, then stared at the glowing numbers on his stove.

It was ass o’clock in the morning. Of course.

“There’s been another attack.” Jeremiah sounded more tired than angry. “Just like Oliver’s shop.”

With those words, Priest didn’t need coffee. “Where?”

“Dawson and Zimmerson. It’s a?—”

“Law firm.” Priest gripped the counter. “Fuck. They were in the news recently, weren’t they?”

“One of the partners—Zimmerson—he made a statement about McCornal and his shit-for-brains son, calling what happened to Remi and his siblings horrifying and a product of McCornal’s crusade of hatred,” Jeremiah said with a heavy sigh. “The firm has a lot of very important clients—some human and some supernatural—and most of them have been quietly distancing themselves from the senator since.”

That… was a lot of information to have on hand for such a fluid situation.

“Have we been monitoring the firm?” he asked, rubbing at his throbbing temples.

Jeremiah didn’t say anything for a moment. “Our analysts were aware of an online campaign targeting the firm.”

“What kind of campaign?”

“The kind that usually doesn’t go beyond the dark corners of the internet.”

But this time, it had.

Priest’s brow furrowed as he abandoned his coffee and slipped into the bathroom. He had clothes that weren’t entirely filthy, and he pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he struggled into his jeans. “Oliver’s shop hadn’t gotten any press recently, right? We can’t call that a pattern.”

“The targets seem to have some similarities and some noted differences.” Jeremiah let out a slow breath. “How fast can you get here?”

“I need five minutes to get dressed and leave a note for Oliver.”

“Did you two work things out?”

“More than,” Priest said with a smile, satisfaction still humming through his veins.

“Spare me the details and tell me he’s not going to take off. We don’t have the resources to track him down if he gets a wild hair and tries to go after his friend.”

Priest had about a thousand questions, but he’d ask them later. He also ignored Jeremiah’s demand. “I’ll see you soon. Ping me the address.”

He hung up and finished dressing, then dragged wet fingers through his hair to put it in some semblance of order as he rinsed with mouthwash.

He gave himself a quick glance in the mirror and was startled to see what he looked like. His skin was all but glowing, and the dark circles under his eyes had receded to almost nothing. He looked alive. He looked better than he had in years.

And he didn’t need a second to understand exactly why that was. He was fairly sure it had nothing to do with the fact that Oliver was part Angel. He’d fed from a full-blooded Angel, and nothing like this had happened. He’d even had a Nephilim lover years and years back, and while he’d felt powerful from it, he didn’t feel restored the way he did now. Like his muscles and bones filled out his skin better than they ever had before.

It was something to do withOliver. No, it waseverythingto do with Oliver.

He pinned the thought aside because he didn’t have time for it. He would take advantage of the fact that he was feeling more alert and use it to take care of whatever the fuck was going on. He knew Jeremiah likely had a theory, and if Knight had been able to get some downtime and recenter, he probably had ideas as well.

After all, if any of them knew what it was like to escape something like this, it was their Vampire brother.

Heading back into the kitchen, Priest rummaged around his neglected drawers until he found an old notepad and a pen. The ink in it was half-dry, but he managed to sketch out a quick note telling Oliver that he’d be back, and under no circumstances was he to leave the house. He wished he had better magic abilities so he could ward his wayward little lover inside, but he didn’t.

Besides, if Oliver could break his thrall, there was no telling what other bits of Priest’s magic he could resist.

Tiptoeing back into his room, Priest stood beside the bed and stared down at his lover. Oliver looked small somehow, nestled in his sheets with the comforter pulled halfway up his chest. He had one arm flung over his head, the other curled in a loose fist at his side, and his lips were gently parted with his breath.

Priest wanted to crawl into the bed and wrap around him and never leave. Instead, he set the note down on the nightstand, brushed a kiss to his temple, taking in a deep breath of his scent, and then he turned and hurried out.

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