4. Oliver

4

OLIVER

W arm. God, he was so warm , and everything around him was so soft. Except… no. It was hot. Everything was hot, and he was burning , and…

Oliver’s eyes opened, his breath stuttering in his chest as he tried to gasp for air. Everything around him was unfamiliar, and the first thing he became aware of was the pain. He couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from because it felt like every single muscle was on fire.

“Mrrfpfh.” He wasn’t sure what he’d tried to say, but that was the odd noise that escaped his lips. But a second later, a hand touched his, and some of the agony began to ease.

Azriel? He was the only creature Oliver knew who could heal, and… wait. Wasn’t he with Azriel? Shit, where was he? How did he get there, and what in the name of all the gods had happened?

“Hey. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Ten minutes ago—or was it maybe ten hours or ten years—Oliver would have given his right arm to hear that voice. He managed to turn his head, and he found Priest on his knees beside the bed he was lying on in an unfamiliar room. Oliver tried to lick his lips, but his tongue felt like sandpaper.

“What…” He got the single word out before he started choking.

Priest was on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs for water before Oliver had time to react.

He forced himself to sit partway up. “No. I’m?—”

“Lay down,” Priest shouted, then slapped his hand over his mouth while using the other one to forcibly shove Oliver back to the sheets. Oliver stared at him with wide eyes as Priest snatched his hand back and stared at it like the thing was possessed. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. But don’t move. Please? Because you’re hurt, and… where the hell is that water !”

Oliver managed to lift his arm and pressed his hand over his eyes. His head was pounding. “Can you,” he rasped, “maybe… not scream right now?”

He heard the sound of Priest slapping his mouth again and then muffled words against his palm. Gods, why was he so head over heels for this disaster Demon?

Another beat later, Oliver heard the door creak open, and he dropped his hand, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw Azriel leaning in the doorway holding a frosty glass bottle of Siren Water. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Oliver managed a scowl, and as he tried to push himself up, Priest was instantly at his side, offering his very warm, very strong arms. Oliver did his best not to melt, considering the situation seemed pretty damned dire.

“Here,” Azriel said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He twisted off the aluminum cap and helped Oliver take a few sips. The water was the perfect temperature, and the healing properties began to ease some of the internal aches. When he tried to move again though, pain shot through him, and he collapsed back against Priest.

“Easy,” Azriel said, setting the bottle on the table. “You basically just died, so no marathons.”

Oliver sucked in a breath and fought off a coughing fit. “I’m sorry. I what ?”

Azriel and Priest exchanged a look, and Priest’s arms tightened around him, giving Oliver comfort he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

The Angel took a breath, then asked, “What do you remember?”

Oliver’s brow furrowed. Everything was so… foggy and off, like he’d been sleeping for too long. What had he been doing? “I was at the shop. I came to see you,” he recounted. There was something else he was missing. “The club was pretty dead.”

Azriel sighed. “Mhm. Remember why?”

Oliver started to shake his head, wincing at the pain, but a memory slammed into him. “Something… something was wrong. I felt it.” He lifted a weak, trembling hand and pressed it to his sternum. “I ran out. I… I don’t…I think my shop is gone.”

“Yeah,” Priest whispered, and Oliver felt a sudden, crushing grief. “I’m so sorry.”

Closing his eyes, Oliver leaned back into Priest’s arms and took a few trembling breaths. “Poe must be so pissed.” It was the silence that was so telling—the tension in the air. Oliver opened his eyes and looked between them. “Tell me he’s woken up.”

Azriel couldn’t meet his gaze, and Oliver felt like his soul was trying to escape his body. There was no way. No way in any level of hell that Poe was?—

“We haven’t been allowed in the shop yet to look for his body, but…”

“No,” Oliver said. No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t right. Not just because he refused to lose Poe but because he could feel it. He’d know if Poe was gone, and that just wasn’t the case. “You’re wrong.”

Azriel looked like he wanted to cry. It was an expression that might have broken Oliver’s heart if he hadn’t known deep in his soul that Poe was still alive. “There’s no chance he survived that, Oliver. I’m so sorry.”

Oliver shook his head and tried to wriggle out of Priest’s arms, but the Demon was refusing to let him go. “You didn’t even look for him. He could be hurt! He’s not dead, but he might be bleeding out, and?—”

“He’s gone,” came a voice from the doorway.

All of them looked over, and Oliver’s eyes rested on Easton, the Dragon he’d met once or twice when he’d come around with Priest. He was very tall and gorgeous, with massive shoulders, short dark curls, and brown skin that shone with barely-there scales whenever he turned just right in the late afternoon sun. His eyes were narrowed and serious, his mouth tipped down.

“What do you mean?” Priest asked, running a hand down Oliver’s bare arm. The gesture might have been soothing if Oliver hadn’t been reeling from the news that his entire life had just been blown to bits.

Easton sighed. “Just that. Knight and I got access to the building after Sunshine made some calls. There’s no body. But the blast destroyed pretty much everything. I don’t know what kind of weapon they used?—”

“One that could have done significant damage even to an Angel,” Azriel said, sounding furious.

“Thank you, Storm,” Priest said quietly. He bowed his head, his nose resting very close to Oliver’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re sorry. There’s no body.”

“There’s a damn good chance the explosion…” the Dragon didn’t finish his sentence.

Oliver felt like he was going to throw up all over his lap. He understood that the others were making sense, and maybe he was just being stubborn because there wasn’t a chance in hell he wanted to live life without Poe in the world, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wrong. Poe was alive. He might be hurt, and he was definitely missing.

But he wasn’t dead.

He tried to move his legs, but he realized he could barely feel them, and panic raced up his spine. “I can’t move.”

Azriel nodded. “I know. You’re healing. I gave you literally everything I could, but your body’s going to need to do the rest.”

“Am I… will I walk again?” Oliver asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel gave him a pat on the hand. “Yes, darling. Even dancing eventually, but right now, you need to rest. I’m going to make a couple calls and get you some potions that work on humans, okay?”

Oliver let out a shaking sigh, then nodded. What he wanted was to jump out of the bed and follow the odd sensation in his chest. It was tugging at him like someone had attached a string to his soul, and he knew it would lead him to Poe.

But he physically couldn’t, and right then, he couldn’t stop his eyes from getting hot.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Priest asked after Azriel and Easton left the room. He’d finally moved away from Oliver, but the empty space felt all wrong.

Oliver realized that was the last thing in the world he wanted. “Will you stay? I, uh…” Oliver’s gaze cut to the window. The shades were mostly drawn, but he realized right then he could see flashing lights from the fire trucks and the police.

Gods, it all felt so real suddenly.

His eyes got hot, and he looked away, mortified, as tears began to spill down his cheeks. There was a crushing grief for everything he’d lost and a sudden fear because while he knew Poe wasn’t dead, if he wasn’t in the shop rubble, where was he?

“Hey,” Priest said, dropping to his knees beside the bed. “What can I do?”

Oliver shook his head. He couldn’t speak, or he’d fall apart.

“Would you like touch? Comfort? I mean, I don’t think I’m super great at—oh,” Priest gasped when Oliver blindly reached for him and yanked him close.

Considering the way Priest had reacted to him before, he wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to have this again, so he was going to be greedy. He didn’t think a Demon would mind if he indulged in that—especially an Incubus. He closed his eyes as Priest wrapped his impossibly warm body around him and held him tight.

Sobs lodged in his chest, but eventually, the edge of hysteria faded, and he could breathe again. “Sorry,” he managed.

“Shut up,” Priest replied, then stiffened. “Sorry. Gods, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just… I mean… please don’t apologize for needing—um—this.”

You , Oliver finished for him. And maybe that’s what Priest had been about to say. He buried his face in the Demon’s shirt and breathed in his scent. It was heady and rich and spicy. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, both emotionally and physically, he might have even responded to it.

“I hate feeling weak and useless,” Oliver said, finally giving voice to his raging emotions. “I should be out there looking for Poe.”

“Ol—”

“No,” Oliver interrupted at the sound of Priest’s pacifying tone. He pulled back and looked him in the eye. “I know it sounds nuts, but he is alive.”

“How do you know?” Priest asked. He didn’t sound like he was mocking Oliver, which was the only reason he felt safe to answer.

“I don’t understand it. It’s just this… feeling.” He touched his aching sternum. “It’s right here. It’s like this little pulse trying to tell me that he’s still here. And I should be out there looking for him because something is definitely wrong, and he needs help.”

Priest’s brow furrowed. “Well, something is wrong, that’s for damned sure.”

It was obvious he didn’t agree with Oliver that Poe was alive, but he didn’t immediately dismiss him either, which was something, at least. Oliver closed his eyes and sagged against Priest again. “Promise me when I’m better, we can go get him. Wherever he is.”

Oliver felt Priest dragging fingers through his hair. The gesture was kind and soft and soothing enough that Oliver felt himself slipping toward unconsciousness again. The edges of his vision were going black, and his limbs were heavy.

Just before he slipped away, he swore he heard Priest say, “We can do whatever you want. I’d do anything for you.”

But maybe that was part of a dream.

When Oliver woke next, his heart sank when he realized his pain wasn’t much better, and he still couldn’t really move his legs. He got a few wiggles out of his toes, but his body felt shattered. Which, he realized, it probably was. Azriel was an Angel, so he’d been able to stop Oliver from actually dying, but Angelic miracles had limits.

With a small sigh, Oliver turned toward the nightstand and saw a small vial sitting beside the little digital clock. He’d seen something like it before. Poe liked to keep a nice stock of magical treatments along with human ones. Magic was always iffy on their kind—sometimes, it worked too well; other times, it made them sick. But he trusted Azriel to know what he could and couldn’t take.

Mostly.

But he didn’t have much to lose at this point.

Oliver grabbed the potion, uncorked it, and grimaced at the smell. It wasn’t particularly bad—it was just chock-full of so much lavender it smelled like his adoptive mom’s fancy soap in her guest bathroom. Saying a small prayer to whatever god might be listening, Oliver pinched his nose and tipped it all down his throat.

“You’re a literal child,” came a voice from the doorway.

Oliver set the vial down and looked over at Azriel, who seemed not quite himself. Almost rattled, which wasn’t something Oliver ever expected to see.

“It’s disgusting,” he said with a sniff.

Azriel attempted a smile, but it fell short, and a beat later, he was across the room and dropping down to Oliver’s side. Barely able to get a breath in, Oliver found himself crushed against the Angel’s chest, the powerful hands holding him like he might fall to pieces.

“Hey,” Oliver said after a beat. “Is everything okay?”

Azriel sniffed and pulled back. “Don’t you ever, ever fucking do that to me again, okay? I’m not actually a Guardian Angel. I’m just some piece of shit who owns a strip club. I’m not good at the whole”—he waved his hand—“being good thing.”

Oliver’s chest warmed a little. “Didn’t know you cared. And for what it’s worth, you’re better at it than you think.”

Azriel punched him in the arm hard enough to hurt, laughing when Oliver scowled. “Shut up. I don’t care about a lot of people. You and Poe are different. Special. He’s…” His voice cracked, and Oliver quickly grabbed Azriel’s hand.

“He’s not dead.”

“You didn’t see the blast,” Azriel argued. “There was no way he survived it. Honey, I am so sorry, but?—”

“No,” Oliver interrupted again. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it, but he’s not dead.”

Azriel closed his eyes in a long, slow blink. “Death is hard to accept. Trust me, I get that more than most, and I don’t wish this kind of pain on anyone. But at some point, you need to face the reality of this situation.”

Oliver flopped back down, covering his face with both hands. “If I could walk right now, I’d get out of this fucking bed and lead all of you to him.”

Azriel was very quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat. “You know where he is?”

Oliver groaned and peered at the Angel through his fingers. “Well, no, but I can feel him. Don’t ask me how. I just… can. It’s like having a second heartbeat or something. He’s alive, but he’s in danger, and I hate that we’re sitting around on our asses when he needs our help.”

“That’s the grief, babes,” Azriel said.

Oliver was too tired to argue, and he realized that the potion was kicking in because his limbs were as heavy as stones. “What did you give me?” His tongue struggled to form words.

“The good shit. Gargoyle shit,” Azriel said. “It won’t heal you, but it’ll let your body rest so it can heal itself.”

“Being human sucks,” Oliver mumbled.

Azriel let out a hum that sounded off. Like there was something Azriel wasn’t saying. But his head was far too foggy to follow that trail.

“Where’s Priest?”

Azriel laughed and gave him a tiny shake. “Even drugged up and injured, you’re still a little horndog.”

Oliver would have blushed, but the potion was making it impossible to care about shame or propriety. “He held me. Was nice.”

“Oh, I bet. But I sent him out for some supplies. I thought he was fucking awful when he was just hungry. Now, he’s hungry and stressed,” Azriel said with a small sigh.

Oliver forced his eyes open. “Hungry?”

“You know how he feeds, babes. Right?”

Oliver managed to roll his eyes before they slipped shut again. “M’not stupid.”

“Of course not. Well, he’s been a little reluctant to take someone upstairs for a while now, and I think I know why.” Azriel gave him a little pat again, and in spite of the potion doing an amazing job, Oliver still got what he was saying.

He blindly swatted at the Angel. “Lies. Wouldn’t even kiss me.”

“That’s probably because he’s afraid to drain you, darling. Priest doesn’t feed on humans. Too fragile.”

“M’strong,” Oliver mumbled. He was drifting now. Azriel was there, but so was Priest. He was naked and gorgeous, and his eyes looked like he was starving for Oliver. A warmth pooled in his chest—something tugging at him a little like his feelings about Poe, except entirely different. When Priest got close, it felt like he was the other half to Oliver’s whole, and they fit together like they were fated to be.

Which was impossible. Humans didn’t have mates, and Incubi rarely even fed on them, let alone allowed a true bond to form.

So it was nothing more than a lovely dream.

“Rest well,” Azriel said off in the distance.

Oliver tried to answer him, but he was too busy reaching for dream-Priest, who was there and willing, unafraid, and most definitely not going to run.