Chapter 5
Five
Hunter
What had just happened was impossible. Hunter was sure of it, and yet he couldn’t deny his hellhound’s reaction. When he and Father Roy had met the first time, he’d only caught the overwhelming scent of sickly sweet wine.
This time, though, he could smell the priest’s breath. When he caught a slight fruity note, a hint of pomegranate, his hound had spoken.
Hunter’s hound was a creature of few words. Some hellhounds had entire conversations with their beasts, but Hunter’s relationship to his had always been instinctual. They trusted each other in silence.
And yet, his hound had spoken. Only one word, but a powerful one.
Mate.
Which had to be impossible. There’s just no way this imperious little priest was his mate. Until Ammon found Tristan, he hadn’t even thought hellhounds could have mates. Heaven wouldn’t have paired him with a priest. That would be insane.
Unless Heaven was fucking with him.
Once Nathan was gone, Hunter turned to Tristan, forcing out his words. “I need Ammon.”
Hunter headed out the door, ignoring the sound of Tristan calling after him.
Sliding into his sleek black sports car, Hunter gunned it, leaving the parking lot and heading toward the manor where he lived with Ammon, Tristan, and Naomi.
Hunter’s mind was whirling. He couldn’t have a priest for a mate. Why would he even have been given one?
Stability was anathema to his being. He lived his life on the knife’s edge and liked it that way. Occasionally, Ammon forced him to take on a more normal chore, but mostly Hunter was a predator, a cat who loved to toy with his prey.
If he drove people crazy, he didn’t mind. When the world around him was off balance, Hunter was at peace.
Stalking up the long front walkway, Hunter reached out to touch the doorknob. The lock clicked before he made contact.
It was attuned to the residents of the house. Anyone else would have a damned hard time getting in. He turned the knob and stepped in, heading down the hall toward Ammon’s office, half-dreading what his pack leader would say.
Not bothering to knock, he stepped inside to find Ammon sitting behind the stodgy monstrosity he called a desk. Naomi was standing nearby, making notes on the clipboard in her hand.
Naomi was a strange creature. A tall woman in a charcoal suit, she sported her preferred hairstyle: a severe black bob. Hunter knew it was her preferred hairstyle because she could change it instantaneously, and yet she’d kept it the same for hundreds of years.
She’d been in Hunter’s life, in the life of all Ammon’s pups, since birth. She wasn’t a maternal figure. More like a distant, all-knowing aunt. She had to be a demon, but not even Ammon was certain which kind.
Naomi shot him a look that sent shivers down his spine, full of rage at being interrupted. Ammon had long ceased to scare Hunter, but Naomi could still manage it.
“What could have prompted you to enter without knocking?” she asked, her voice flat as she tapped on the clipboard in her hands.
“The priest is my mate.”
“What priest?” Ammon asked, standing, his emotions unreadable.
“Father Roy. From the bar. The associate pastor at St. Stephen’s.”
Ammon glanced at Naomi, the two sharing a look that contained a silent conversation. Hunter didn’t like it.
“What?”
“The magic user, the Forbidden One we’ve been following, is a priest.” Naomi’s answer was in a softer tone than Hunter expected from the demon.
Hunter’s gaze flitted back and forth between them, trying to marry that idea with his image of the self-righteous Father Roy. He didn’t seem to be the type to be using forbidden magic. Would a man who ranted about illegal gambling be willing to destroy innocent souls?
“That can’t be him.”
Ammon shook his head. “No, it’s not. Nor do we think it’s the main pastor, Father McDonagh, at least not directly. But he might be involved somehow, or someone else at St. Stephen’s, even if the Forbidden One’s home base is elsewhere.”
Pausing to process that information, Hunter tucked it away. For the moment, that wasn’t the current issue.
“That’s not important. What’s important is that my mate is a priest. An obnoxious, holier-than-thou servant of Heaven. Are the heavens fucking with me? Why would I be paired with a clergyman? It can’t be real.”
Collapsing into a cushy, leather-upholstered chair, Hunter let out a gigantic sigh. Until half an hour ago, his life had been simple. Torture bad humans. Kill bad humans. Do stupid projects Ammon foisted on him.
And now? Disaster.
Slipping out from behind his desk, Ammon’s body language relaxed as he approached his pup. Hunter considered putting up some kind of wall, not engaging, but quickly discarded the thought.
Ammon had raised him. He was Hunter’s pack leader. There were few important ties among demons, but this was one of the few. And of those few, one of the strongest.
“Hunter,” Ammon said in a low, soft tone, “what if he is your mate?”
“Heaven and Hell are in communication again, after years of glaring at each other across the abyss.” Naomi also stepped forward, but thankfully didn’t come as near as Ammon had, standing off to the side.
“The rules are changing. I don’t know what the outcome of that will be, but it’s possible hellhounds being given human mates are part of the shift. ”
Ammon glanced over at her. He wore a troubled expression. “All of this is beyond our assigned task.”
“Yeah, I don’t care about any of that.” Hunter propped his feet up on the shelf of a nearby bookcase, desperate to find some kind of comfort to escape his whirring brain.
“What is the good of mating me to a priest? What, am I going to go up to him and be like, hey, I’m a shapeshifting demon, wanna get married? Not that it’s possible in your notoriously homophobic church. Nevermind, just let me bite you.”
Hunter threw his arms up in the air and collapsed back. This was all so stupid. He’d never expected to have a mate in the first place. He’d had his share of dalliances with humans, but that’s all they were. Dalliances.
Nothing more permanent was possible. He had evil magic-users to track down and torture. He had humans to freak out. He had sushi to eat. That was why he was on Earth. This mate thing would screw everything up.
Ammon’s voice interrupted his perseveration. “What are you going to do, pup?”
Naomi and Ammon stared down at him, awaiting his response like two harsh professors during an oral exam.
“Nothing. I’m going to do nothing.”