Page 63 of Priest

Jeremiah nodded. “Tomorrow, we have to inform Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerson that their son didn’t make it. After that, we’ll have a meeting of the minds because I have a bad feeling this goes beyond fringe hate groups. There were children in that facility. Two of them were turned.”

Priest felt sick. “Where are they now?”

“Rhombus’s Hoard took them,” Jeremiah said.

Rhombus was a Dragon on the Charlie Team. His Hoard lived on one of the Bellona Mountain peaks, which was probably the best place for children that were, for all intents and purposes, now illegal in every country. Anywhere else, the way they aged so slowly would be noticed easily, outing them. Unless something could be done about society, they would never be welcome.

If Priest had been stronger, he would have put his fist through the wall. “What do we tell their parents?”

“Slate volunteered to talk to them.”

Priest couldn’t imagine being the one to deliver such devastating news. As much as he wanted to believe the parents would continue to love their children…

He didn’t have much hope.

Knight’s hadn’t. Neither had Jeremiah’s.

Priest didn’t remember his, his earliest memories of group homes and beatings. He’d been told his mother had abandoned him, and he believed it. No one wanted a child like him, not when the chances of going mad with hunger were basically guaranteed.

“I’m flying back home tonight,” Jeremiah said. “Knight’s staying here so he can go through the lab after Bravo gets done clearing out the rest of the bodies. Two of the unturned survivors are still here, and he wants to question them.”

Priest nodded. “Let him know I’ll help.”

“You’re hurt,” Oliver started to protest.

“I am.” Priest gave him a knowing smile. “But with a little help, it won’t take me long to heal.”

As much as Priest would have loved to order everyone out of the room and to take Oliver right there, he couldn’t. Poe was calling for him, and Priest wasn’t going to stand in his way. Azriel agreed to stay in the safe house for a few more days as Poe gained strength, and it would allow Oliver to help him come to terms with what had happened.

“I don’t like this,” Priest said to Jeremiah, hobbling with him to the door.

Jeremiah bowed his head. “Neither do I. I thought… Fuck, when Knight told me what happened to him, I thought it was some random sicko with a Vampire obsession, but he knew that lab. And if they were able to get out so quickly, if they had an escape plan at the ready?—”

“Then they’ve been doing this a long time,” Priest finished for him. He rubbed at his temples. “There has to be more than one lab out there.”

“I’m terrified to think of how many. But I’m done playing fucking defense.” Jeremiah dropped the handle of his suitcase and grabbed Priest, pulling him into a hug. “He’s your mate, isn’t he?”

Priest swallowed thickly. “I think so. I… I feel this thing inside me, like a thousand impossibly strong threads trying to bind us together. But I don’t know how. He’s mostly human, and he’d be closer to Nephilim than an Angel. This shouldn’t be possible.”

Jeremiah rubbed at his chin, and he pulled back. “I have a few theories on that too, but we can talk about it later.”

“Do you think whatever this is might be related to finding our mates?”

“I think there’s a lot of big, waving flags we’ve missed over the years,” Jeremiah admitted. “But I refuse to believe we’re too late to stop whatever the fuck these people are planning.” He gave Priest’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Go. Feed. Heal. We need you.”

Priest nodded, watching as Jeremiah stepped through the door, and then he turned and headed back to his room. It was still empty, and his hunger was gnawing at him, but it was more than that. He didn’t just want to feed. He wanted Oliver.

He needed him.

Those invisible threads in his chest began to stretch out. He could feel them reaching, searching. He could feel when they connected to his beloved. Only minutes passed before the bedroom door opened, and Oliver stepped through, locking it behind him.

Priest felt his lingering worry, felt his hunger. His Demon rose to the surface of his skin, ready to take, to feed, to consume the parts of Oliver he was willingly giving. Priest felt pinned to the bed by Oliver’s gaze, and he could do nothing except wait for his little human to cross the room.

Oliver’s gaze was fixed on him, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilated. He looked like he was in a trance, but then he reached for the hem of his shirt and smiled. “Say please.”

Priest’s throat went dry. “Please.”

Oliver removed the shirt, letting it fall to his feet. He took several more steps. His knees hit the bed. His lithe, perfect, clever fingers touched the button on his jeans. “And this?”

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