Page 47 of Priest

Oliver looked between the two of them, obviously not sure if that was a joke or not, but just smiled once more. “Yes, of course. I’m not picky.”

He and Oliver kept up a light conversation the rest of the way, with Rorick barely participating, though his frostiness seemed to have thawed out a little bit at Oliver’s easygoing demeanor and earnest way of asking questions. As they turned around the last bend and the Dragons’ home came into view, Priest smiled at Oliver’s sharp intake of breath.

Even with how dark the sky had gotten—thanks to the storm now in full force and the rain hindering some of the view—the size and majesty of the Hoard’s home couldn’t be denied,especially as most of the windows were lit up from the inside, glowing softly like a beacon welcoming them in.

Rorick veered to the left and hit a button on his dash that opened one of the garage doors. He pulled the SUV in, parking between five motorcycles clustered together and a bright yellow sports car thatmaybewould fit three out of four of the Hoard members. There was another SUV parked on the other side of the garage and bicycles mounted on the wall closest to them. As they stepped out, Priest noted the kayaks hanging from the ceiling.

Everything inside the space pointed to a family that enjoyed doing activities together.

Priest grabbed their bags from out of the back, waving Rorick off when he made a half-hearted effort to try and grab one. They followed the Dragon through the garage, a roll of Hoard rumbling around them as the garage door slowly lowered.

They went into the house through a door that brought them into a large mudroom filled with coats and boots and umbrellas. Rorick paused, leaning down to untie his black boots before kicking them off. Oliver glanced at him, and Priest nodded, quickly toeing off his own and using his feet to slide them out of the way.

Dragons were particular about their homes, despite what Rorick had said about not having any particular etiquettes. It was considered rude to wear your shoes while inside, and Priest had learned the hard way the first time he was there with the twins. The shocked and disbelieving looks had made his skin crawl, and he’d been quick to remedy his mistake.

If they would have come in through the front door, they would have walked into the grand entrance. Marble floors, high vaulted ceilings, and two staircases that led up to the second floor. But coming in through the mudroom, you got dumpedright into the kitchen. It was grand in its own way and extremely spacious, but it had to be to feed a Hoard of Dragons.

But it was also lived-in and functional, unlike some of the other parts of the house that felt like they were more for display. Dragons could be arrogant aboutthings, caring more about material goods than they probably should sometimes. But they valued nothing more than their mates, their families, so the parts of their homes that were used most often were comfortable and cozy.

Oliver made a startled noise next to him, his gaze glued on the tall, umber-skinned man dicing vegetables at the kitchen island. “Storm?”

Priest laughed, and Flint did as well.

“I get that a lot,” the chef said, not slowing down his chopping even as he smiled at Oliver, his knife going a mile a minute. “My brother and I do look an awful lot alike.”

Oliver gazed at him with wide eyes, and Priest shrugged. “I told you I knew them.”

He slapped at Priest’s arm. “You could have mentioned they were family.” He grinned at Flint. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve only met your brother a handful of times when he was dragging this one out of my…” His voice faltered, his entire demeanor changing in the blink of an eye, his grief so thick Priest could scent it on the air. “Um, m-my shop.”

Flint gave him a sympathetic look. “We heard about what happened. I’m so sorry. All that knowledge just lost. It’s devastating to the entire supernatural community, but I can’t even imagine how you must feel, especially with your friend missing.”

Oliver blinked quickly and looked away, swiping beneath one of his eyes and clearing his throat. “At least I still have Poe. We’ll find him.” He met Priest’s eyes, his expression full of fear and longing. “We have to find him.”

Priest cupped his face, uncaring what the Dragons thought. “We will.”

He and Oliver stared at each other, sharing the moment, breathing each other in and letting the feeling of their skin connecting soothe them both. Rorick groaned behind them, and Flint chuckled.

“Oh, Ro, leave them be. Don’t you remember what it was like to be newly mated?”

Oliver started choking on nothing, his face turning beet red, and Priest’s heart fell to the floor. Was the idea of being mated to him so horrifying? He thought… Well, he supposed it didn’t matter what he’d thought.

He let his hands drop, and he took a step away as Flint hurried to fill a glass and hand it to Oliver. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

Oliver waved a hand in the air after taking a long sip. “No, it just caught me by surprise. We haven’t…” He glanced at Priest, his smile shy. “We haven’t really talked about… you know, everything.”

“There’s no rush,” Flint assured them, clapping Oliver on the shoulder briefly and then rounding the kitchen island once more, gesturing Rorick toward him with a quick flick of his fingers.

Rorick grumbled but complied, not stopping until he was pressed against Flint’s front, wrapping his tattooed arms around his mate and taking a deep breath before letting it out noisily.

“Were you polite to our guests?”

Rorick grunted in reply, and Flint chuckled again.

“He was fine, lovely even,” Oliver quickly said.

“You don’t have to cover for him,” Flint said, smiling fondly at the top of Rorick’s head.

Rorick ignored them, keeping his face buried in his mate’s neck.

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