Chapter 9
Nine
Hunter
After bounding off into the woods, Hunter circled around, slipping in between trees and houses to end up at the rectory. Although solidly constructed, he found the saltbox home a little sad.
The wooden siding was desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint, and the gutters had disconnected in several places. One window was even missing a shutter. It spoke of an underlying rot Hunter found very confusing.
It didn’t fit what he knew of the pastor of St. Stephen’s. By all accounts, Father McDonagh was obsessed with status, or at least with money. He didn’t give the time of day to his poorer parishioners. Why would he let things get so run down?
Maybe the priest didn’t care about appearances. Maybe he spent his money and influence on other luxuries. Darker luxuries?
The hellhound kept to the shadows as he watched Father Roy emerge from the side street and make his way to the side entrance. Pulling the key from his pocket, the priest took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside.
If Father Roy was concerned about running into his superior, he had nothing to worry about. With his supernatural hearing, Hunter picked up Father McDonagh snoring away on the second floor.
Hunter slipped across the street to the front yard of the rectory as Father Roy locked the door behind him. Once he was within fifty feet of the building, it hit him: an intense nausea in the pit of his stomach accompanied by a pungent odor reminiscent of rotting meat.
He knew that feeling. It was his body’s reaction to forbidden magic. Hunter could recognize it anywhere—it was part of his task as a hellhound—and in his beast form, the sensation was overwhelming.
He padded around the exterior of the house, searching for some clue as to the source. Hunter assumed the stench of forbidden magic was related to whatever Father Roy had witnessed earlier that evening.
Hunter could tell from the strength of his body’s reaction that the magic was fresh. There were some traces of older magic use, but it was faint. A few spells had been cast here before, but not consistently.
After circling the rectory a few times, Hunter stopped his sweep. It was late, and he needed more information. Maybe a new perspective.
He was reticent to leave Father Roy alone in the building. Something had happened there. But even if Father McDonagh was involved, he’d never hurt his subordinate priest before, and Father Roy had been associate pastor for a few years now.
The priest would be safe enough. Hunter slunk away and slipped into the darkness of the Purgatory night.
Bringing the fork up, Hunter slid a few pieces of scrambled egg into his mouth. Hellhounds didn’t really need to eat, but he enjoyed it. Especially breakfast.
He sat cross-legged on the thick carpet of the gaming room.
It was empty, other than a large television and a couple of comfy couches.
He was watching a ridiculous video of an owner chasing her cat around the house.
The cat had stolen her wedding ring and was sliding it around with its paws, looking for a place to stash it where the owner couldn’t get it.
“Under the bookcase!” He couldn’t keep himself from egging the fluffy Ragdoll on. Hunter hated cats, but he loved cat videos.
And this owner didn’t seem very smart.
At some point, he sensed Naomi glide into the room behind him. He turned to find her standing there in one of her characteristic pencil skirts. He’d taken his breakfast to the game room because Ammon wouldn’t go there, and Hunter had wanted peace.
The old man hated fun.
“You got home late last night,” Naomi said as she took a seat on the nearest couch, a glass of orange juice in her hand. Hunter raised an eyebrow at her, eyeing the drink.
She gave him a flat look. “I enjoy citrus. Just because I don’t need to eat doesn’t mean I’ve lost my sense of taste.”
“Mmm. Yes, everyone in Hell always talks about how much you loved citrus. Naomi, Queen of the Citrus. No one ever got scurvy when she was around.”
Naomi stared at him, not letting up the pressure for a second. Of course, that might work on some of his brothers, but not on him. Hunter had never cared about what people thought of him, not even Naomi.
“What?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes as he flirted mockingly.
“You haven’t changed.”
“Me? No, I don’t change. Still the charming pup who psychologically tortured that Forbidden One in Cleveland until he jumped off the roof of a Dave and Buster’s.”
Naomi took a sip of her orange juice and swallowed without breaking eye contact. “You’re in a mood.”
“I’m so sorry. My mate’s a Catholic priest who hates me, and I’m feeling a bit abused by the heavens at the moment, thanks.” Hunter set his plate down onto the nearby coffee table with a clank. He didn’t feel like eating anymore. “Leave me alone with my cat videos.”
“You said you weren’t going to do anything about the priest.” Naomi’s demeanor didn’t change, but Hunter could sense a hint of amusement in her tone. He clenched his fists and looked away from the demon.
“I wasn’t! But then he had to go and get drunk and wander around Purgatory in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t let him get killed by whatever predator.
There’s a Forbidden One running around here somewhere.
Plus, something happened at the rectory.
He won’t say what it was, but it stank of prohibited magic. ”
Humming softly, Naomi frowned and tapped her fingertips against the couch.
“You’ll have to speak to him further about it.”
“Oh, really? I’ll have to speak to the man who hates me and he’ll just willingly give me information he didn’t tell anyone else? Great. I’ll get right on that.”
Hunter stood and paced around the room. Usually, Naomi was a calming influence, but she was driving him crazy today.
“Hunter.”
He stopped cold at the sound of his name. Trying to move, he found his muscles locked in place. She’d never used an ability like that in his presence before. He didn’t know she had that kind of power.
“Who are you?” Hunter asked, eyeing her warily. He’d known her for hundreds of years, and he’d always thought of her as Ammon’s assistant. Someone the old man brought from Hell to handle logistics.
This was a surprise.
“I’m just a demon. I’m here to help the pack. But the more important question, Hunter, is who are you?”
“What does that mean?” He watched her, waiting for a response, but she didn’t make a move. She stared right back at him before sighing.
“You are a hellhound, not some ordinary werewolf or shifter. You are a Hound of the Prince of Hell. Why are you treating your mate like he is breakable? The heavens chose him for you. That means he is durable enough to survive you. Who cares if he likes you? He’ll be drawn to his mate, regardless.”
A silence enveloped them as Hunter took in her words. She wasn’t wrong. If Hunter wasn’t going to refuse the bond, there was no reason to treat this like a human match.
He wasn’t human. He was Hunter. He manipulated and tortured and took what he wanted. If the priest were his, no one could stand in his way. And yet…
“Are you sure? Father Roy is human. They’re all so fragile.”
“Of course I am. If the heavens matched him with you, he is no ordinary human. He is resilient. More than that. He would probably respond to your usual…eccentricities.”
The corners of his lips curled up at her words. “What eccentricities are those, Naomi?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, shooing him off with her free hand. “You’re obnoxious and a little psychotic and you live to push people’s buttons.”
“I’ve never heard that before, Princess of the Pomelos.”
“You are infuriating.” Naomi stood and swept out of the room. Had she sought him out specifically to have a come-to-Jesus conversation? A come-to-Lucifer?
Hunter hated being manipulated, but Naomi hadn’t done that. He appreciated how straightforward she’d been with him.
And she wasn’t wrong. He was a hellhound, and he couldn’t change his nature. His mate would have to accept that. Father Roy wouldn’t have been chosen as his mate if he couldn’t roll with Hunter’s quirks.
On the one hand, the best course of action was to leave it all alone. To let the priest go. They’d both continue on their journeys alone.
But the presence of a Forbidden One complicated things.
And despite his words, Father Roy didn’t seem willing to leave Hunter be. The more time they spent in close proximity, the harder it was to deny their mating.
So maybe he shouldn’t deny it. Although the human was a priest, and being with a gay hellhound would violate however many hundreds of his vows. But fuck it. Hunter would win the man over by being himself. His prodding, poking, torturing self.
This could be fun.