Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Hunter
“Get up!”
The two words pierced the fog of half-sleep Hunter had found himself in for the past couple of days like a spear through the hide of a dragon.
He ignored them. Hunter had finally found a peaceful spot. For once he wasn’t thinking, wasn’t ruminating, wasn’t destroying something in anger. He was in his comfortable bed, his turbulent feelings locked away.
That peace evaporated with the touch of a burning hand on his cheek. Like, really hot. Like, he-was-a-hellhound-so-how-could-this-possibly-affect-him-and-yet-it-did hot.
“What the fuck?!” He let out a sound that couldn’t be called demonic or masculine. More like a wounded puppy.
He opened his eyes to find Naomi glaring down at him.
“How did you do that? I’m a hellhound. Heat doesn’t hurt me!” He was sitting up before he knew it, an unconscious reaction to the unexpected pain.
“Because I am Naamah, and with that name comes power.” She stood still, like a monument lost to time.
“Naamah. But that can’t be right.” Naamah was one of the first demons. Naomi couldn’t be Naamah. Why would an ancient demon of such power saddle herself with a bunch of hellhounds? She could finish whatever tasks they’d been assigned by herself, with barely a thought.
“That is who I am.” Her eyes flashed black for only a second before returning to normal. “And you will keep it to yourself. It’s not yet time for my identity to be known.”
“Of course, Old One.” Okay, that might have been a bit impudent, but Hunter couldn’t stop himself. She’d woken him up from his perfect, numb slumber.
“Watch it, pup, or I’ll replace you with an automaton. No one will know the difference, and you can spend the next ten thousand years hunting penguins in Antarctica.”
Hunter shuddered at the thought of the terrifying cold of the pole. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll keep your secret. But why did you wake me up?”
“Because it’s time for you to leave your bed. You’ve been asleep for two and a half days now. Stop being an idiot and go after your mate.”
“Get out of my room.” Hunter got up and stood face-to-face with Naomi. It didn’t matter that she was some kind of powerhouse with strength beyond his comprehension. He wouldn’t be pushed around, not when it came to Nathan. The priest had told him to wait, so he would wait.
The bond would tell him if his mate changed his mind. That hadn’t happened.
“Do not threaten me, hound.” Naomi didn’t flinch at his angry presence. “You have neither the strength nor the wit to deal with the likes of me.”
Hunter stared at her, but there was no fear in her. She was certain of herself, and if she was indeed who she said she was, he was no match for her.
Plus, she was right.
He wilted, sinking back down into a sitting position on the bed, the soft mattress giving way under the weight of his body. It was no comfort.
In his hundreds of years of life, he’d never experienced doubt like this. Uncertainty had been common but fleeting—the result of a plan unraveled or an attack gone awry. This deep wound, though, was new. It came from the mating, from the knowledge Nathan was out there and had rejected him.
Not just rejected him. Nathan had cut him off. The separation was unlike anything Hunter had experienced before. The emotions of a hellhound were simple: righteous anger, carnal pleasure, possessive ownership. Not this bottled yearning, not this primal ache.
And what would he do? He couldn’t force the priest to do anything. Any pain he inflicted would be sent back to him through the mate bond.
“He’s made his decision. I have to wait.”
Naomi sighed with the air of an ancient forced to deal with the very young.
“You are no powerless human. You are a demon. A hellhound. You’ve been separated for a week. The bond must be pulsing with pain. Go after the priest. Make your case. Show him who you are.”
That’s what he’d wanted to do. But all of this had thoroughly thrown Hunter. Maybe this was why hellhounds had never been given mates before. The entire process sucked.
He was a shadow of his former self. Where had his playfulness gone? His shamelessness?
“I don’t know. I can’t—”
Hunter. Help. Please.
The words echoed in Hunter’s mind, reverberating through his whole body. The mate bond pulsed with Nathan’s plea. Hunter opened his soul, attempting to locate his mate, to at least get a general direction.
But as he honed in, the bond went silent.
“Why are we here?” Hunter couldn’t control himself. He was itching with the need to find his mate, and he was about ready to burn down the whole town of Purgatory to make it happen. Starting with the bushes they were crouching behind, across the street from the rectory.
“Because this is the only lead we have.” Ammon’s voice was soft, but it held a world of frustration. “So you need to shut up and let us work. Unless you have a better idea.”
Hunter didn’t answer. He didn’t have a better idea. But he was slowly losing his mind. The bond was a void in his soul.
His mate wasn’t dead—he would know if that were the case—but Hunter couldn’t sense him. He was unraveling as a result. Before, Nathan had muted the mate bond, but it was still there. Now a vacuum sat in Hunter’s solar plexus.
How long would it be before his whole being collapsed in on itself?
From his left, Eli grunted before gesturing toward the rectory with his head. Then he stepped out of their hiding spot.
“What are you…” Ammon trailed off, giving up on stopping his newly returned pup. Eli had always done what he wanted, ever since he and Hunter were young. In this instance, Hunter agreed.
It was better than more waiting.
Falling in behind Eli, just off his shoulder, Hunter padded across the large lawn, arriving brazenly at the front door to the rectory. Ammon slipped in step behind him.
Several lamps illuminated the first floor, visible through the large windows, but there was no sign of movement. It was evening now, fully dark, but it wasn’t so late that Father McDonagh should be in bed.
Without warning, Eli leveled his foot at the door and, with one swift kick, sent it flying off its hinges.
“It might have been unlocked,” Ammon growled, but Hunter didn’t care. What did it matter? Destroy it all.
They searched room after room on the first floor of the large house, finding only personal effects and religious paraphernalia. Crosses littered the wall, and in the living room a large print of the Virgin Mary stared down at the entire space with a compassionate smile.
Hunter found her strained smile condescending.
When they reached the kitchen and had still found no one, Hunter pointed to a heavy, padlocked door. He assumed from the layout of the house it was the indoor entrance to the basement. That’s where they needed to check next.
“At least listen to see if anyone is there before rushing in.” Ammon’s face had settled into a permanent frown, and a wave of nostalgia washed through Hunter. The pack leader had worn that expression so often over the years. It was as comfortable as a warm blanket.
Hunter pressed his ear to the rough wood grain of the basement door, straining his supernatural hearing.
The room below must have been well-insulated, but he caught the faint notes of conversation.
“What is wrong with you, you asshole?” It was the voice of a young man, maybe in his early twenties. And it was filled with utter rage.
“Don’t make me gag you again.” This one was older, the hint of a Boston accent coloring the words. Father McDonagh?
“Listen, you motherfucker, I’ll—”
The younger man’s words were stifled as some kind of fabric covered his mouth. At least, that’s what Hunter assumed was happening.
“When Brother Bill returns, he’ll take care of you. Until then, let’s have some fun.”
Hunter gestured to Eli and backed away from the door. Once again, his packmate took out the door with a kick, the old padlock twisting and coming apart under the pressure.
“What the hell was that?!” The exclamation shot up from the depths below, filled with alarm.
They couldn’t give the man a chance to run. Hunter hurried down the stairs, spying a shadow at the bottom and transporting himself into it.
Orienting himself, Hunter found Father McDonagh standing by the wall with the bindings, a small but sharp kitchen knife in his hands.
All was the same as the last time they were there, except now there was a man held in place by those leather straps.
Looking to be in his late twenties, he was short, his close-cropped hair dyed an unnatural black.
He was naked except for a pair of bikini briefs.
He strained against his restraints, but to no avail.
They could deal with him later. Hunter lunged for Father McDonagh, grabbing him by the wrist and disarming him, even as the priest let out a weak whimper.
The human was clearly not a fighter. At least, not against a hellhound.
In one swift motion, Hunter secured Father McDonagh’s hands behind his back, forcing him down with a kick to the back of the knees.
“Who are you?” The priest’s voice was indignant, as though it were a horrific imposition to be interrupted before torturing his bound prisoner.
Bending down, Hunter put his mouth to the priest’s ear. “I am Judgment,” he growled, delighting as the human trembled. “I’ve come for you.”
Glancing back at the others, Eli was cutting through the bindings with his sword, despite it being far too large for such a task. With each limb freed, the black-haired man struggled even harder, which was counterproductive, but Eli said nothing.
When Eli removed the man’s gag, he let out a furious, wordless scream.
“Stop fighting, we’re freeing you,” Ammon said, even as he walked a path around the perimeter of the circle. “What’s your name?”
“They call me Rageball.” Eli had an arm around the man’s waist now as he cut the last of the bindings, restraining him, clearly sensing he was about to do something drastic.
“And if you don’t give me the knife and let me kill that priest, I’m going to murder each one of you and bathe in your blood.”
“Woah.” The single word Eli uttered had a strange calming effect on the man, who was still eyeing the kneeling priest.
“I need him,” Hunter said, unable to keep the derision out of his voice. The priest would burn soon enough.
Twisting one of the priest’s arms further, Hunter watched as Father McDonagh let out a cry of pain and anger. He didn’t care about the evil human’s suffering.
“Where is Nathan?”
“Father Nate?” McDonagh’s attention flitted around the room as if he were fighting to make sense of what was happening. “He isn’t here. Probably out being a goody two-shoes, as usual.”
Hunter reared back and slapped the man, not with the strength of a human but with that of a hellhound. The crunch of several of Father McDonagh’s teeth shattering echoed in the empty basement.
“You will not disparage him. Tell me where the other one is.”
“The other one?” Hunter pulled his arm back to strike again when the priest interrupted. “Please, please, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
“You will,” Ammon’s voice echoed through the room as he approached Father McDonagh, standing next to Hunter. “Or you will die.”
“God have mercy on me.” The priest closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Then he opened his them and continued.
“Brother Bill is a Franciscan friar; that’s all I know. I met him through the bishop. He needs people for his, I don’t know, experiments? I don’t really get what he does. It’s just my job to bring him ‘fresh souls.’ That’s what he calls them.”
Ammon’s brow furrowed at the priest’s obvious downplaying of his role, but before Hunter could prod him further, the human they’d found yelled from the far corner, where he stood with Eli.
“He’s a fucking liar! He told me the guy would devour my soul! Those were his exact words. But that he would have his fun first.” Rageball—was that actually his name?—reached out his arm, which was shaking with apparent fury. “Now, when are you going to let me gut the asshole?”
“Calm.”
Rageball’s body instantly relaxed at Ammon’s command. As pack leader, and the oldest among them, Ammon had a powerful voice, when he chose to use it.
“Where is Bill?”
Father McDonagh’s eyes darted about the room.
“Please, I don’t know. I would meet him in a neighboring town.
At an abandoned church. He had his whole setup there.
But…I don’t know how to get there. I don’t really understand what he did to me, but it meant I couldn’t recall the route to the location. ”
Hunter smacked the back of the priest’s head, which propelled the man facedown into the dirt floor with a pathetic thump. He’d done it out of frustration. The priest wasn’t lying.
“I want to kill him now.” Rageball had a tinny voice, but the anger in it was a volcano about to erupt.
“No.” There was no question for Hunter how this should go. “He belongs to Nathan.”
Ammon nodded, and Hunter appreciated the agreement from his pack leader. “He may yet have more information we can use. We’ll take him with us.”
“Where?” Hunter was barely keeping his shit together. “We don’t even know where we’re going.”
“Tie him up,” Ammon said, gesturing to the sad lump of a priest. “We’ll search the rectory and see what we can find.”