Page 38 of Priest

He swallowed heavily, then flinched when he felt something on the edge of his jaw. His hand flew up to brush it away, and it came back wet. Fuck, he was crying. He realized the tightness in his throat was his body attempting to hold back a sob. This was too much. It was all too much.

His gaze cut to the wall where the stairs were that led to his apartment, but the hole above him told him there was nothing left to find there. Everything was ruined. He ran both hands over his face until his cheeks were dry, and then he squared his shoulders and turned toward the space where the counter used to be.

His eyes moved over everything, but it was all covered in ash from the fire. It smelled like burning rot. Not a single book had survived. Not a single artifact. Not one spell jar. His potions were cooked, leaving smears on the floor.

“Where are you?” Oliver whispered, but there was no one to hear his words.

As he picked his way through the carnage, time passed slowly—like the turn of the Earth was caught in a river of honey. His limbs were still stiff and aching, and after what had to be at least an hour, he had to stop. There was nothing there—and if there was, he wasn’t going to find it.

He wasn’t a detective. He wasn’t a member of the Alpha Team. He might be part Angel, but it wasn’t enough to give him the strength he needed to do any of this.

Oliver’s gaze cut to Azriel’s bar, clearly visible through the gaping holes where his windows used to be. There were nowindows at the club, but he had no doubt the Angel was there. He was probably sleeping still… or drinking or fucking. Or some mixture of all three. The last thing he wanted to do was drag Azriel into something he wanted no part of, but he was at a loss. The Alpha Team wasn’t prioritizing Poe, so what choice did he have?

He stepped over fallen beams and burnt brick as he made his way back outside. The smoke had long since cleared, but his lungs still felt clogged with ash, and he coughed several times as he made his way into the alley.

That was where they’d picked up a scent. Where they’d found one of Poe’s shoes. Maybe there was something left.

He walked from one end to the other, kicking over old takeout containers and soggy cardboard boxes, but if Poe had left anything else behind, Oliver couldn’t see it. He wondered if the shoe was even his. If the scent was even his. It wasn’t like he could verify for himself.

His stomach ached as he turned back toward the club. He had to get Azriel. He was at the end of the line.

“Poe. Please,” he murmured helplessly. Pointlessly.

Why did he have to be this? Why couldn’t his new Angel powers come with something useful besides the ability to teleport three feet and be overwhelmed with ridiculous premonitions that never made sense until well after the fact?

“If you’re out there?—”

Something crawled up his spine. It was so powerful, so intense, he swore it was a physical touch. He spun toward the club, then froze. Nothing was there. No one was with him. Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Poe,” he murmured again.

The sensation was back. It was like a second heartbeat beside his own, but it wasn’t lodged in his chest. It was moving—tugging him to the right. He took a step, and the feeling increased. Urgency flooded his limbs.

“Poe,” he said again, his voice stronger.

The feeling was like a rapid drumbeat. It was Poe. It was the feeling he had before when he knew Poe was alive—it was his heart. He was hurting—he was in danger—but he was alive. He wanted to run, but he needed to think clearly if he was going to have a chance at finding his friend.

“Where are you?”

There was no answer. Then, before he could start to panic that this was one more useless thing now plaguing him, his feet began to move. It was a slow stumble at first, but once he stopped resisting and gave in to his body, he began to run.

It felt like there was a hook lodged in his ribs, pulling him along. He let go to the power, and by the gods, this was what he needed. He started to laugh as the buildings whipped by him. He wasn’t moving faster than a human, but it didn’t matter. His powers had found Poe.

However they came to be—whatever his horrible family had done and whatever secrets they kept—in this moment, he was grateful. He was going to find him. He was going to bring Poe home and?—

Everything stopped.

Powerful arms wrapped around him, gripping him. The creature’s heat was white-hot, almost burning Oliver through his shirt. He instantly began to fight. He wasn’t going to let himself be taken!

“Let me go! Fuck you, let me g—mpfhhh!” The creature pressed a hand over Oliver’s mouth. His claws dug deeply into Oliver’s skin, and he began to flail, trying to scream past the warm, sweaty palm pinning his lips together.

“Oliver!”

It took him a moment to recognize the voice and a moment after that for his body to stop fighting.

“Oliver! It’s me. It’s me.”

Priest.

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