Chapter 14 #2
No, that wasn’t right. He’d become a priest because of his faith. Because he wanted to serve God and his fellow human beings.
Was it one or the other? He wasn’t sure anymore.
“I’m not a demon or an angel or anything else,” Nathan continued.
“I’m just a small-town priest. I don’t have any special powers to protect me or my parishioners.
And Father McDonagh is my superior. I don’t know if going through the church hierarchy will do me any good.
What am I going to tell the bishop? He’ll think I’ve had a psychotic break. And what if…”
Ammon nodded, as if he understood exactly where Nathan’s train of thought had ended.
“What if the bishop is in on it?” Ammon’s tone grew hard. “That is always a possibility. Being clergy is no immunity to the temptation of power.”
Rapping his knuckles on the table, Tristan looked directly at Nathan. “You’re not entirely right. You may not be a demon or an angel, but you’re also not just a small-town priest. You don’t have any supernatural powers. Yet.”
Nathan was tired. He was especially tired of not understanding how the world worked. Before all this, he’d had a handle on his faith and his place in the cosmos. Now, every time one of these people—these hellhounds—opened their mouths, another pillar of his faith crumbled.
“What are you talking about? I’m human.”
“Tristan.” Hunter’s voice rang like a warning, and Nathan turned to see the hellhound staring daggers at Tristan.
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you hellhounds not to keep secrets.
Will I have to go through this with every new pack member?
” Tristan dismissed Hunter with a gesture and turned back to Nathan.
“You’re Hunter’s mate. When he claims you, you’ll gain some of his power.
We think it’s the universe’s way of protecting humans with a mate bond. ”
“Dammit, Tristan!” Hunter sprang out of his seat and stalked away, heading to the bar and fetching a tumbler before searching for something. Nathan assumed for a bottle of liquor.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nathan had worked to curb his cussing in seminary, but recently he’d been confronted with so many situations that brought out his working-class upbringing.
“I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what a mate is.
I’m a Catholic priest. I can’t be anything to Hunter, no matter what you or he says about it. ”
Tristan and Ammon locked eyes with each other. Anxiety spiked in Nathan’s chest at the silent communication. What was the issue? He glanced over at Hunter, who had filled his glass to the top with whiskey and was glaring at the group of them.
“You are Hunter’s mate,” Ammon said, an unexpected note of compassion in his rumbling voice. “The heavens paired you together. You’re perfect for each other, meant for each other. The two of you can fight it, but…”
“But what?” Nathan couldn’t keep the bitter anger from his voice. Maybe it wasn’t Ammon's or Hunter’s fault, but since their arrival in Purgatory and Father McDonagh’s worsening treatment, Nathan’s image of his life had been slowly disintegrating. Now he was betrothed to a demon or something?
“Hunter cannot leave Purgatory. The Prince of Hell assigned him here. And as far as I can tell, you have no intention of leaving. To break a mating bond, you have to stay far away from each other. Eventually, the pull between the two of you would lessen. You’ve felt it, haven’t you?”
Nathan opened his mouth to deny it, then stopped himself.
He’d felt something. From the day he met Hunter, he couldn’t get the man—the demon—out of his head.
His defenses had crumbled. He’d had sex with the man in public!
Even if Hunter was a hellhound, even if the man had some supernatural power over him, it was still wildly out of character.
“If the two of you live in such close proximity,” Ammon continued, “your position as a priest won’t make a bit of difference. You will be inexorably drawn to each other. When an angel declares a mating, they don’t fuck around.”
The sound of glass breaking rang out from the other side of the room. The three of them turned toward Hunter, who held the remains of his tumbler of whiskey. As he opened his hand, blood-covered shards fell from his palm to the floor.
The broken glass broke something in Nathan as well.
Slamming his palms down on the table, Nathan let out a yell of frustration. “It’s too much. You are asking me to accept a completely different view of God, of the universe, and I can’t just throw away everything I’ve believed for so long. I can’t be with Hunter. I’m a Catholic priest. I have vows—”
Nathan never got to finish his statement of strength, because in that moment, the windows of the bar exploded inward, fire pouring in from the street as if a bomb had been set off. Nathan’s ears rang, the sound of the world around him dulling to a faint echo.
Luckily, they’d been sitting far enough from the front of the bar that the fire didn’t reach them, although the heat was nearly unbearable. What had reached Nathan was a shower of glass. The skin on his face and hands stung with tiny embedded shards.
Someone was yelling at him, but Nathan couldn’t make out the words. Everything was too much. His vision blurred and his ears rang from the explosion.
Without really understanding what was happening, Nathan found himself being carried. Someone had hefted him into the air and was relocating him to behind the bar.
Someone? Hunter. Hunter was moving him.
The hellhound was yelling, his mouth moving even though Nathan couldn’t understand what he said. After another minute of Nathan’s ears ringing and an indistinct blare, his words broke through the fog.
“Nathan! Get behind the bar and stay down.”
“What’s happening?” Nathan still couldn’t get a handle on what his senses were telling him. Something was hammering on the front door. It rattled and bulged as if it were being assaulted by a battering ram.
“We’re being attacked.” It looked as though Hunter was reaching up to take Nathan’s face in his hands, but he stopped short. “Fuck, you’re hurt.”
“I’ll take care of him,” yelled another voice. “You help Ammon. If it gets bad, we’ll sneak out the back.”
After a confusing few seconds, the owner of the voice appeared, rags and a bottle of Everclear in hand. It was Tristan.
Hunter gave Tristan a look that screamed, “If something happens to Nathan, I’ll kill you.” Nathan’s insides went all gooey at his words. Tristan, on the other hand, just glared back at Hunter.
“Go, asshole.”
Hunter nodded, and then his body changed, taking on his hellhound form.
He bounded out into the center of the bar.
Another hellhound, larger and more muscular, stood there waiting for him.
Ammon. The two of them were magnificent, although Nathan preferred Hunter, sleek and lean with a white stripe in his fur.
“Nathan, look at me,” Tristan said. Nathan pried his attention from the two supernatural creatures standing between them and whatever was banging on the door. Tristan pulled him down to the floor and started picking glass out of Nathan’s skin.
Each tiny shard stung far more on its way out than it had on the way in. Nathan breathed in sharply as Tristan pulled on one that was embedded deeper than the others.
“Almost done,” Tristan said as he tossed a blood-covered piece of glass onto the floor. “This part is going to hurt the most.” He then opened the bottle of grain alcohol and doused the rag in it.
“What are you doing?” Nathan whispered, afraid he already knew the answer.
“Need to disinfect,” the man said. “I’m sorry.”
“Holy fuck!” Nathan yelped as Tristan brought the rag to his face. The burn when the wet fabric touched his skin was excruciating. From the center of the bar, one hellhound growled. Nathan was certain it was Hunter.
A few quick swipes and Tristan was done. “We’ll have to bandage you properly later. Hopefully, this will keep the area clean for a while. There are a couple of cuts still bleeding. Sorry that—”
Tristan’s words were lost in the loud crunch as the front door flew off its hinges and hit the floor of the bar with a thundering bang.