Chapter 11 #2
As Bible study let out, Hunter watched patiently from the shadow of a nearby bush. It was almost fully dark now, and hiding from the small-town parishioners was no problem. After a few minutes, the priest emerged from the church basement where the meeting was being held.
Hunter couldn’t look away as Father Roy locked the door, his form illuminated by the light fixture on the side of the building. Even dressed in all black, his mate cut a dashing figure. The priest wasn’t particularly muscular, but he was fit, and he didn’t lack in the ass department.
That got Hunter thinking. Father Roy was young, probably in his mid-to-late twenties, so he likely went to seminary right out of college. Did he have any sexual experience? Was it with men or women?
Had anyone ever eaten that ass?
Hunter’s brain short-circuited at the thought of shoving his tongue into the priest’s tight asshole, teasing him as the man came apart. What would be better than that?
Father Roy was already halfway to his car before Hunter realized he’d gotten distracted. It was time for his charm offensive. His version of it, at least. A not-so-charming offensive.
Padding out of the shadows, he slipped between the priest and his destination, an old silver sedan sitting on four nearly bald tires. When Father Roy saw the hellhound, he froze, staring at the creature.
“You…” The priest swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took in Hunter’s beast form. Hunter stalked toward him, smelling the mix of excitement and fear on his mate.
Sauntering over to Father Roy, Hunter gently head-butted him at the hip, causing the man to take a step back. The priest didn’t run.
Hunter wondered if it was the nascent mate bond creating a sense of safety between them. Even if the priest didn’t know the creature in front of him was the man he hated so much.
Time for a surprise.
A growl rumbled in Hunter’s canine chest. It wasn’t a true sign of aggression, but could Father Roy tell the difference? The priest’s wobbling knees showed he could not. Still, he didn’t move.
Nervous anticipation bubbled up in Hunter’s stomach as he considered his next action. Fear and lust were close neighbors, and the hellhound could take advantage of that.
So, with a quick lunge, he bit down on the priest’s hand. Hard. Not hard enough to take off a finger, but enough to draw blood.
“Fuck!” Father Roy yelped before pulling his hand away. He eyed his surroundings. Maybe looking for help? All the Bible study attendees were long gone, however.
If the bite wasn’t enough to make the priest run, Hunter knew what would. Keeping his attention trained on Father Roy, he raised his head and howled.
The howl of a hellhound was a fearsome thing, designed to elicit terror and dread in its victims. Father Roy’s reaction told a story of panic and fright. And…lust?
After a beat, indecision flashing across his face, he turned and ran.
Potential energy surged through Hunter’s muscles as he watched his mate flee, giving the priest a short head start so he could enjoy the sight of him rushing away. His ass was even more perfect in motion.
Hunter was blocking the path to the street, which meant Father Roy could only go in one direction.
The woods behind the church weren’t too thick, with little undergrowth, so it made sense for the priest to disappear into the trees.
There weren’t acres of wilderness back there, however.
No, only a few hundred feet, and Father Roy would reach the destination Hunter had intended for their little chase this evening.
Purgatory Chasm.
Deciding that Father Roy had gained enough distance, Hunter launched himself after his mate, leaves rustling underfoot as he raced between the trees, following the human’s scent. He’d gone exactly where Hunter had planned.
Purgatory Chasm was a natural landmark, a rocky fissure in the earth that the town had turned into a minor public attraction. Only seventy feet deep, the maze of jutting stone was a perfect diversion for local teens. It was night now, though, and the place was closed to the public.
Ensuring Father Roy had no other choice, Hunter pressed closer to his prey. The terror on the priest’s face as he glanced back at the hellhound was delicious. The human’s heart thumping in his chest was like the hottest dance beat Hunter had ever heard.
Father Roy, clearly deciding he didn’t want to wait to be mauled, jumped over the low gate marking the entrance to the state park and disappeared into the quagmire of stone formations. If he were being chased by a human, he would have gotten away.
Hunter, however, was no human. He could hear his mate’s panting breaths. He could smell his mate’s scent, that perfect blend of sweat and fear. It urged him on.
The hellhound waited at the entrance to the fissure, giving Father Roy time to find a hiding place. There was something delectable about that sense of hope, that light that Hunter would gladly extinguish, replacing it with the terror of his hellfire.
The scuffing of the priest’s shoes against the stone and dirt came to a stop, and his breathing slowed. It was time.
Slowly, so slowly, Hunter stalked through the chasm, letting his feet fall heavier than he typically would, forgoing stealth for torture. His nails dragged against the stone as he scratched the rock beneath.
Father Roy’s breath quivered, losing its regularity. As Hunter made it further into the fissure, he easily puzzled out where the priest had hidden himself away.
To the left, there was a large boulder sloping upwards to a point. To the right, a tight passageway leading to a small area, just big enough for one human with a few feet to spare. The way was narrow enough that one might fend off an attacker.
Unless the attacker descended from above.
Hunter veered to the left, heading up the slope of the rock face, and positioned himself on the peak.
He peered down at his mate, whose back was glued to the stone wall behind him.
Despite the thin layer of sweat trickling down the priest’s forehead, the longer the hellhound watched, the more Father Roy’s muscles relaxed. The human thought he was safe.
Hunter would prove him wrong.