Chapter 11
Eleven
Hunter
Hunter was having a great day.
Walking into the bar a few hours before opening, he bounced through the door, humming. He’d been vibing to the latest gay bop on the drive over, unable to keep down the malevolent joy bubbling up inside.
He couldn’t stop visualizing the priest walking out the door to the rectory and finding the gay-ass blanket he’d left there. Hunter was sure it would irritate the hell out of him. He hoped Father Roy might even curse his name.
The priest’s anger was like catnip to Hunter.
All that good mood came crashing down when he noticed what waited for him in the bar.
Tristan stood in the center of the room with three police officers. He was talking fast and gesticulating, and Hunter recognized the cop in the center.
It was the Purgatory chief of police.
“We have an event space back there,” Tristan was saying to the man, although his eyes shot to Hunter as the hellhound walked through the front door. “Just a bunch of tables and chairs.”
“I’ve got to see it for myself,” the chief said, puffing his chest out, his gray police shirt stretching over his gut as he did. “As much as I liked your father, I can’t take your word for it.”
“Is there a problem?” Hunter asked as he approached. The two other cops eyed him as he neared, but Hunter didn’t flinch in the slightest.
He was an immortal demon. What were human authorities to him?
“Who are you?” asked one of the cops flanking the chief. The two were practically clones of each other: mid-twenties, military haircuts and muscles. The chief was a bearish daddy, and Hunter had to admit he had an allure, with his moustache and ex-football player’s build.
“Hunter Strong. I help Tristan manage the bar and the event space,” Hunter said smoothly. He didn’t enjoy diplomacy, but he’d use it if he had to. And gladly abandon it when it stopped working.
“Well, Hunter Strong,” the police chief said, “we’ve had persistent complaints about you all running an illegal gambling hall. Normally, we don’t bother with private gaming, but the calls keep rolling in.”
“Persistent complaints, huh?” Hunter circled around them to stand next to Tristan, leaning his elbow on the tense man’s shoulder. “Are those complaints from a bunch of people, or just one person who has too much time on their hands? A certain local priest who’s too handsome for his own good?”
“I can’t comment on that, sir.”
Hunter hummed before giving the chief of police a long look. He wasn’t sure if this human was as weak-willed as he seemed, but Hunter would take a chance on using his powers.
Shadows draped themselves across the large bar, minimal illumination leaking in through the dark windows. Tristan hadn’t flipped on the lights yet, which meant he had plenty to work with.
Hunter motioned with his right hand, and the shadows took on a life of their own. They shimmered and undulated around the police officers, who didn’t seem to notice them at all.
“You’re just doing your job.”
The two officers flanking the chief nodded, and then the chief spoke.
“We’re just doing our job. We have to investigate these things.”
Hunter tapped his foot against the sticky concrete. That wasn’t a negative response. “You’re doing excellent work.”
“We are, aren’t we?” A self-satisfied smile appeared on the police chief’s face as he beamed at the compliment. Time to push a little harder.
“You’re sorry for having wasted our time.”
“We’re…” The chief’s brow furrowed as he stopped himself. He was contemplating Hunter’s expression, perhaps trying to understand what was happening, but the hellhound powered on, reinforcing what he’d just said.
“The complainant got some ideas in his head, and you had to check the situation out. Now you’ve seen there’s nothing criminal going on, so you’ll leave us alone.”
A light came into the police chief’s gaze as though he finally understood his own thoughts.
“Yes, you know how small-town folks can get. We had to check the place out. We’ll let you get on with your business.”
Hunter couldn’t help himself, ending with a capper.
“You’re going to go now. Maybe you’ll stop at home to have a quick three-way together.”
The two flanking officers’ eyes went wide, although neither appeared aghast at the suggestion. The police chief, on the other hand, was smiling.
“We should really get going. We have to get back to the station, and we’ve got one more stop to make.”
The chief spun on his heels and sauntered out. The two other officers gave Hunter a confused look before turning to follow. He couldn’t help but notice their attention glued to the police chief’s ass.
Hunter made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and the shadows settled into stillness once more.
“What the fuck was that?” Tristan’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he demanded answers.
Chuckling, Hunter patted Tristan on the back. “Not everyone is like your mate. Ammon’s powers are all based around how strong he is. Mine are more about sneakiness. I’m a creature of the shadows as much as I’m a beast of fire.”
“Okay.” Tristan shook his head and went to pour himself a shot of whiskey, despite it only being mid-afternoon. “But what exactly did you do?”
“I used the shadows to influence their perceptions.” Hunter stretched his hands over his head and let out a yawn. “If people are weak-willed enough, they don’t question it. It’s not absolute, not like the power of an ancient vampire, but it’ll usually do the trick with ordinary humans.”
“Wait. Vampires are real?!” Tristan poured a second shot for himself.
“Sure are. Purgatory doesn’t have a vampire coven, though. Closest is probably Worcester.”
“There are vampires in Worcester?! Wait. I don’t want to know about this. I need to open the bar.” Tristan came out from behind the counter and began removing stools from tables and setting them on the floor. Hunter watched for a second before jumping in to help.
“It’s okay. You’re mated to Ammon. He’d never let a vampire even get near you. He’d probably drain it and have you make its blood into brunch cocktails.”
Tristan nodded absentmindedly. Hunter presumed he was still processing the idea of vampires being real. Wait until the man found out about some of the other supernatural species. Like gargoyles. Or mummies.
Stopping in his tracks, Tristan looked back at Hunter. “Hold on. Who complained about us to the police?”
“Father Roy.” Hunter set the last of the stools down and shrugged. “No doubt in my mind. He’s been relentless about the whole thing. I had hoped kissing him last night would slow him down, but guess not.”
Tristan’s mouth fell open, and there was a bang as the human accidentally slammed his hand on a tall table.
“You kissed a Catholic priest!?”
Hunter nodded and headed back to the bar to grab a rag and some cleaning spray. The twink barback must not have thoroughly cleaned up the night before. Some tables were still sticky.
What was the kid’s name? Noah? Yeah, he wasn’t great at his job.
“And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that? A hellhound, a literal demon kissing a Catholic priest?”
“Nah.” The lemon odor of the cleaning spray hit Hunter’s superpowered senses as he scrubbed at one of the high-tops. Part of him enjoyed the pungency, punching through any fogginess in his mind. “It sort of fits the M.O., doesn’t it? The demon from Hell tempting the devout priest? How juicy!”
“Okay, sure. But doesn’t God mind?”
Hunter stopped to glance at Tristan. He wasn’t sure how honest Ammon had been with his mate about the state of things.
“The First? They have better things to do than give a shit about a priest getting a blowjob or whatever. They’re kind of beyond human sexuality. And Jesus is a lot hornier than most people think. You think none of those apostles ever tripped and fell dick first into His ass? Please.”
Tristan just stood there and stared at Hunter, clearly trying to parse his words. It tickled Hunter to push the usually steadfast human off-balance.
“But what about the fact that you’re a demon? He’s a priest!”
“We’re not exactly at odds,” Hunter said, moving onto another table as he casually laid out the theology of Heaven and Hell.
“Think of us more as rivals. We’re all racing to the same finish line, we just disagree on how to get there.
And him being a priest, well, it doesn’t mean much.
No one earthly religion has a monopoly on truth.
The whole celibacy thing, well, I don’t think it means much to all the Heaven guys. They don’t give a shit.”
Rubbing his hand over his face, Tristan let out an enormous sigh. Hunter loved doing this to people. Everyone needed their worldview rocked once in a while.
He couldn’t wait to rock Father Roy’s worldview, in more ways than one. Although the priest would need to be eased in more gently.
“Wait. You said Jesus. So Jesus was actually the son of God?”
“That’s complex.” Hunter tossed the rag back to the bar before squaring himself toward Tristan, hands on his hips. “Are you sure you’re ready to know that Jesus became the son of the First after the fact?”
“Okay, I’m out.” Tristan headed to the back room, disappearing through the swinging doors. “Thanks for everything, no need to help anymore!”
Hunter smiled, his thoughts going to Father Roy, wondering what his reaction to his little gift had been. Well, that was only step one in Hunter’s offensive. Considering the cops stopped by today, he assumed the priest hadn’t changed his mind about Hunter yet.
That was okay. Father Roy had met his other form once. Now it was time for him to fully grasp the power of Hunter’s beast.
The parking lot of the church was half full when Hunter’s hound form slipped between the cars, the asphalt rough against his paws. Father Roy was due to finish up soon, and Hunter was waiting for his mate.