Chapter 18
Eighteen
Nathan
Sharp pain interrupted the post-orgasm haze as…had Hunter bitten him? On the neck?
Before Nathan could protest, though, the pain turned to pleasure. More than pleasure.
His orgasm found him once again. It seemed like an impossibility. He’d come twice already, but no, his body shook as his warm release spurted between their stomachs.
This was too much. How could such intense sensations exist?
“Hunter, what did you—”
Nathan’s words died on his lips as his mind flooded with a torrent of images, of emotions, of memories. It was as if he was seeing them all from Hunter’s perspective, flashes of the past but also of this moment, looking down on a wound that had healed into a black flame.
That was himself he was seeing. That was his neck.
His hand went to it, running his fingers over the new imprint, like a strange tattoo or brand, the raised shape of a tongue of fire.
“What did you do?” Nathan didn’t understand what had happened, but something had changed. Something important.
Hunter didn’t answer. Instead, Nathan was hit with a tsunami of emotions. A tinge of guilt, but mostly a sense of rightness. Of ownership. Ownership of him.
The feelings came from his hellhound. His mate.
“I claimed you,” Hunter said, making eye contact as he did. His expression was that of a scientific researcher, dispassionately waiting to see if an experiment had succeeded.
“What does that mean?” Nathan asked through clenched teeth. Was Hunter being purposefully obtuse? He wasn’t sure, but it was pissing him off.
It means, little priest, we are joined. I completed the mate bond. You can sense my emotions, see my memories, even speak to me mind-to-mind.
“What the fuck?!” Nathan sprang up out of bed. A flash of loss at the removal of Nathan’s comforting warmth echoed through the bond from Hunter, followed by sadness.
There are many advantages to it, my human. You will have a much longer lifespan. You will no longer get sick. You will gain a portion of my power.
“But…how?” Despite being naked and sticky, Nathan paced around the room, the soles of his feet brushing against the cold hardwood. His brain was spiraling, and he didn’t care about the physical state he was in. “Why don’t I get a say?”
“I’m not sure. Other species with mates do. They require claiming on both ends. But hellhounds…I don’t think anyone ever expected hellhounds to have mates. Certainly not human mates. This is new. A gift from Heaven.”
Hunter sat up, his gaze running up and down Nathan’s body. Adoration shone on his face, reverberating across the mate bond as well, along with an undercurrent of lust.
“It’s not a gift for me!” Nathan yelled. “I didn’t agree to it. I didn’t want it. Get rid of it.”
“I can’t.”
Nathan had access to the exact intention behind Hunter’s words, which meant there was no mistaking what was going on here.
And what was going on was confusion as to why anyone would refuse a mate bond. Along with pride that Nathan belonged to him. And utter certainty of the rightness of what he’d done.
Something else, too. Nathan wouldn’t call it love, exactly, but perhaps it was the hellhound equivalent of that. A deep ownership. An endless possessiveness.
And concern. Concern for Nathan’s welfare. Concern for his happiness, even.
But not an ounce of concern or shame that he’d done the wrong thing. It was infuriating.
“I can’t do this.” Nathan stopped in front of an ornate wooden dresser, focusing on the Rococo details. Anything to not get caught in thoughts of what Hunter had done. What the hellhound had done without his permission.
Hunter stood, and Nathan did his best to keep from turning toward the beautiful man. Between his ropy muscles and his perfect dick—the joys of which he’d never considered before today—Hunter was a perfect specimen.
But that wasn’t important right now.
“We are made for each other, mate,” Hunter said, crossing his arms, which only brought more attention down to his ever-present cock. “It’s silly to resist.”
“You don’t get to tell me what is silly!” Nathan rushed past Hunter and started throwing on his clothing. It was disgusting, getting dressed without wiping off the mess of their sex, but he was long past the point of caring.
“I am going. You will not follow me. You will not intrude upon my thoughts. You will leave me alone.”
Hunter paled, and he flinched as though Nathan had slapped him. The shock of his reaction echoed through the bond. The hellhound hadn’t even considered Nathan might not want to commit right away.
Or maybe he had, and didn’t give a shit, which was worse.
“Nathan—”
“No. Don’t come looking for me. If I want you, I’ll find you.”
“You smell like demon, Nate.”
Nathan flinched at Father McDonagh’s words. He’d never spoken of demons or the occult before. Nothing esoteric at all. If anything, Nathan found him to be a classic sports-obsessed Masshole.
Besides, he’d gone to the rectory and taken a shower before heading to Mass. He’d washed away any traces of hellhound on him. Although he carried remnants of Hunter inside him.
As pissed as he was, he hadn’t wanted to get rid of that.
Father McDonagh wasn’t at the rectory when Nathan had arrived, which was strange. Finding him at St. Stephen’s a full forty-five minutes before Mass was even stranger. The pastor was never early.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nathan hung his jacket on a hook and put on the first piece of his vestments. “How would I smell like a demon?”
Father McDonagh at the back of the sacristy, his body unnaturally still. In front of him sat two crystal decanters and a blood-red bottle of liturgical wine, waiting to be portioned out. He stared at Nathan from behind his small, metal-rimmed glasses.
“Don’t play coy with me, boy. You’ve been snooping. I know it. You’re collaborating with them.”
Nathan stilled, his stole in his hand. His mind flashed back to the leather bindings in the rectory basement. Had Father McDonagh been part of that? Had he witnessed the destruction of a soul?
Was church the right place for a confrontation? Too much had happened already today, and as much as he wanted to eviscerate the pastor, to demand his plans from him, to demand penitence, he didn’t know what the outcome would be.
Would he end up bound to the wall himself, his own soul getting slowly devoured?
“Who are you talking about?” Nathan forced his shoulders to relax, draping his stole around his neck as he steadied his hands.
“You know very well,” Father McDonagh said, contempt written across his face. “The Hounds of the Prince of Hell. You’ve been cavorting with them.”
There was a dark threat underneath the accusation, but Nathan couldn’t be bothered with fear. The priest’s words infuriated him. After what he’d seen, how dare this man accuse him of anything?
“And who have you been cavorting with?” The words squeezed out in a rasp, bypassing Nathan’s sense of propriety. “What demon have you made a pact with?”
Father McDonagh’s demeanor shifted, an emotionless mask descending, and he calmly decanted the wine from the bottle.
“I don’t know what you’ve been told by those monsters, but don’t be stupid. I just spoke to the bishop. We decided you’re almost ready to have your parish. I can call him back. He’d be very interested in who you’ve been fucking.”
Nathan couldn’t help but stare at the man, fighting back a blush as he puzzled over the manipulative words pouring from the priest’s mouth. What did he really know?
And why would Father McDonagh think he could dangle a parish over his head after all that had happened? Maybe the priest didn’t realize how much Nathan had seen.
It didn’t matter. He shook his head and took a step away from the pastor.
“The altar servers will be here soon. I’ll go prepare them.”
Father McDonagh set down the bottle, his blank expression providing no new information.
“Good. And say a few extra Hail Marys for yourself today, Father Roy. Next time, you won’t have a pack of hellhounds to save you. It’s better to keep in line and not go snooping where you shouldn’t.”
At his words, Nathan’s blood froze, although he kept moving away from Father McDonagh, out of the sacristy and into the sanctuary.
Shit. The man knew more than Nathan had suspected. Had he been behind the attack somehow? Just how deep was he in this forbidden magic?
And what was it all about for him? Power? The man was a parish priest. It made no sense.
Whatever the reasons, Nathan needed to play his cards close to his vest. He couldn’t go running back to Hunter after having just left. He had no sense of Father McDonagh’s abilities, or who he was allied with.
Nathan was still too much in the dark. He wasn’t sure what pieces he was missing. He only knew he didn’t want his parishioners left in the clutches of someone who would destroy souls for the sake of power.
How he’d prevent it, though, he did not know. At the moment, it didn’t matter.
He had Mass to say.