Hell's Chapel (Shapeshifter Urban Fantasy) (Caith Morningstar Book 1)

by Celia Kyle

  Her words overlaid Sam’s “Oh! I didn’t need to see that!” Which was followed by Jezebeth’s scream and Edzard’s growl.

  That had her smiling widely. “And there we go. If I don’t get to come, neither does anyone else.”

  She ignored the glares shot her way and turned back toward the main bar, still tugging Sam with her. “C’mon. Let’s have a drink before the masses descend.”

  And they would descend. Each time something bad happened in her life, all the tween residents in Orlando scurried by to assure her it wasn’t them that’d caused her problems.

  Apparently she was a scary bitch. Who knew?

  Of course, by the time they made it back to the main area, the first customer had arrived. And then another. And yet another. She groaned. Everyone who could teleport decided popping in early was okay.

  She took a deep breath. She couldn’t scorch them all, it’d leave burn marks on the floor. She repeated those words over and over again as she shook one hand after another.

  The leader of the local seethe approached, steps silent and he looked as if he glided over the floor, hovering above the smooth concrete. He didn’t extend his hand in welcome and she didn’t bother reaching for him, either. One night of blood sucking fun was the beginning and ending of her relationship with Imre.

  “Princess,” he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

  Caith groaned. That was another holdover from their one-night stand. They went from “fuck me harder, Imre” to “princess” come morning. “Caith or mistress, Imre. You know I’m not a fan of princess.”

  Even if she was the Princess of Hell.

  He merely hummed. “You know why I am here?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Just as I accepted your assurances weeks ago, I accept them now. Also, I appreciate you letting me borrow Manon.”

  He smirked. “It was her pleasure. Entirely.”

  “I bet,” she drawled.

  “I do, however, have news.”

  Caith raised her eyebrows in question, but he shook his head.

  “No, do you have somewhere more private we can talk?”

  She glared at him. “Really? It’s been a few hundred years and my decision is still the same. My vagina is closed. Besides,” she stood straighter and brushed her hair aside, happily exposing her wound. “I’m mated now.”

  “Really? I was not aware you could,” he gestured at her shoulder, “do this.”

  “Well, I can and I have.” Her tone dared him to say another word.

  “Obviously.” He tore his attention from her and scanned the bar.

  There were only a few more groups waiting. As soon as she got rid of the lingering crowd, she could get the night going.

  “I truly do need a private moment of your time.”

  Then a seductive heat surrounded her, Sam’s scent sinking into her skin, and she leaned back against him. His arms immediately wrapped around her waist and tightened, holding her close.

  “A moment of our time, you say?” Sam’s muscles were tense, body draped over her, but prepared to launch at Imre without hesitation.

  She mentally rolled her eyes. It’d be easier if Sam just peed in a circle around her. Then everyone would know she was off limits.

  Imre stiffened. “I wish to speak with Caith—”

  “Princess,” Sam corrected. “Or Mrs. Kiel.”

  That was news to her. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Mrs. Kiel?”

  He shrugged. “I’m going by Sam Kiel in the tween.”

  Imre twitched, drawing her attention, and the vampire paled more than normal. “Samkiel? On High’s angel of…”

  “Yup.” A cocky, haughty tone filled Sam’s single word.

  “I see. Then, perhaps, a simple warning of ‘your friends are not as they seem and your enemies are surely not their friends.’” With that, Imre vanished in a cloud of sulfuric smoke.

  “I hate when he gets all cryptic,” she growled.

  “I hate when he gets near you, so we’re even,” Sam growled in return.

  “As if you have anything to worry about.” She turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m a wolf, you know I want no one but you.”

  “That is a benefit.” He grinned and lowered his head, drawing nearer with every breath.

  His lips hovered over hers and she whimpered, anticipating his masculine flavors coating her tongue. She loved kissing him. Oh, she enjoyed being possessed by the strong angel, but kisses… She sighed into his mouth, sharing his oxygen.

  Then a loud commotion, raised voices, cracking furniture and the thud of bodies striking the floor, cut into their impending kiss.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Snarling, she tore away from Sam, sought the source of the noises, and zeroed in on the stranger near the doorway. Well, the stranger and her ‘tween bouncers that writhed on the ground. The stranger went so far as to nudge one with the tip of her boot before pulling her leg back and kicking him again.

  Caith followed the line of that curved leg and jealousy over the sexy boots the chick sported flared to life. The Christian Louboutin—signature red sole, a stark contrast to the black leather—shoes covered her leg from toes to above the knee, held in place by hooked buckles that ran from ankle to top edge. Almost like a corset for her leg.

  Caith needed those shoes. Desperately. She wondered if she should bother ordering them online or just kill the chick and take them. Both options were very tempting.

  Another ‘tween approached and she mentally groaned. This was so not gonna go well. Then again, if the chimera managed to take out the woman, Caith got those banging shoes.

  Except the woman spun and…

  “Ouch.” Caith winced when the chimera—Bob and that was such an unsexy name—got one of those expensive boots to the balls.

  “You’d think your chimera would handle himself better,” her mate murmured.

  Yeah, normally Bob would have been the victor since chimeras had the strength of lions, agility of goats, and had the whole deadly snake bite thing going on. Mythology might state chimeras were butt fuggly creatures but really they were bad ass men.

  Except when pitted against Hot Shoe Chick. The shoes being the hot part of her, not the woman herself. Then again, if Caith would have totally gone after her in her more experimental days…

  The ground shook when Bob’s tense form slammed to the concrete and she figured enough was enough.

  “Okay,” she raised her voice. “Let’s stop getting our asses kicked and walk away. Discretion is the better part of valor and all that.” Bob regained his feet and took a step toward the stranger, the need for retribution glowing in his eyes. “For Bob here, it’s more like, ‘sit your ass down before she hands it to you again.’”

  Bob glared at Caith and she ignored the male. She was sure someone would soothe his pride, kiss it, and make it better before the night was through.

  Unless Caith spread the story all over the ‘tween. Which… was pretty damned tempting. She added that to her to-do list.

  For now, she’d keep Xena the Chick in Awesome Boots from embarrassing him further.

  “Who are you and why are you littering my bar with bodies?”

  The woman frowned at the downed men and then met Caith’s gaze with a shrug. “They’re not dead. It’s not their time. Yet. If I’d killed them then Laney would be here busting my balls for screwing up the natural order of things.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I have to wait for the lifeline to go active.”

  Caith narrowed her eyes, really looking at her now. The hair was so bottle blonde, it was ridiculous and then there were the extensions. So. Fake. But the rest… the eyes, nose, and mouth were familiar. She lowered her gaze, taking in the chick’s chest—it really was too bad she was mated now—and then scanned the rest of her body. She had her suspicions, but her grim reaper shaped shadow revealed the rest of the story and she sighed.

  That sigh turned
into a groan when Bob—he really wasn’t the smartest of her bouncers—pushed to his feet once more. He bared his fangs, snake’s venom dripping from their tips, and hissed.

  She kept her tone bland and monotone when she spoke again. “Bob, stop. Please.”

  Later, when she visited him in the hospital—or the morgue if Laney was nearby—she could at least claim she tried to keep him from killing himself.

  Did he stop? No, no he did not. Instead he got a whip-fast jab to the jaw that sent him falling like a log.

  “Timber!” Caith couldn’t help herself. Sue her.

  Now everyone stared at Caith instead of the tableau at the front door. Well, at least the men had a chance to crawl away to lick their wounds while everyone was distracted. Except Bob. Poor Bob was still out cold.

  The woman raised her eyebrows and then her lips parted in a wide smile. She carefully stepped over the bouncers, nearly losing her balance when her heel caught on Bob’s jeans, but managed to stay upright. Barely.

  If she’d fallen, Caith would have claimed those shoes. As the President of SPS--Shoe Protection Services--it was her responsibility to shoes everywhere. Yes, she’d just made that up. No, she didn’t care.

  “Hi.” The woman wiggled her fingers in a small wave.

  Caith would have returned the wave if the bitch hadn’t shifted that wide smile to Sam. Caith took one step forward and another to the right, placing her curvy ass right in front of her mate.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, making sure the girls were pressed together and shown off. Top these tatas, beyotch.

  Childish? Totes.

  The stranger stuttered to a stop, nearly toppling once more. Yes, SPS was about to be in effect.

  “You are?”

  “Me?” The woman pointed at herself. “Oh, Roxy—”

  “Larson. Grim Reaper.” Yup, Caith’s instincts were right.

  Roxy’s smile blinded her. “Yes! No! I mean, yes, I’m a reaper but no, I’m not the Grim Reaper. That’s my cuz, Laney. And you’ve been a naughty girl here,” she almost singsonged the words. “Laney sent me to clean up all those souls since you can’t seem to stop killing things, and I decided it was time for a vacay anyway. Of course, now I have to do the whole promise thing and--”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sam murmured, reaching past Caith and shaking the chick’s hand.

  Roxy was gonna lose an arm and Caith’s inner wolf agreed. Nom, nom, nom...

  “No, it is not nice to meet her,” Caith growled and grabbed Sam’s wrist, tugging her mate’s hand from Buffy the Dick Slayer.

  She really was too pretty for Caith’s comfort.

  “Okay, make your promise and move along little doggie.”

  Roxy sniffed and stared down her nose at Caith. And she was actually able to stare down at Caith. Between Caith’s short height and the woman’s amazeballs shoes, Caith was at a disadvantage.

  “You really are not very nice.” Roxy huffed, and pouted.

  “I’m the devil’s niece. I don’t have to be nice.”

  “Well, you’re not,” she muttered and then the frown turned into a smile when those blue eyes of hers settled on Sam. “Did I mention it was wonderful meeting you?” she purred.

  “I’ll show you nice,” Caith growled, wolf all for eliminating the flirty competition. She jolted forward, arms outstretched and nails already transformed to sharp tips so she could scratch the chick’s eyes out.

  Unfortunately, Sam was a total buzzkill and grabbed her around the waist, halting her leap. He held her tightly even as she struggled, grip firming with each jerk and twist.

  “Tou. Chy.” Roxy propped her hands on her hips. “Does your momma know her daughter is a total bi--”

  “Yes,” her mother’s shout came from the back of the room. “But she hasn’t killed you yet. That’s disappointing.”

  Ah, her mother had such high, deadly expectations. Caith was all about rising to the challenge at the moment.

  Roxy wrinkled her nose. “I forgot. Evil devil’s niece and all that.” Then she brightened up. “But on the plus side, you can’t kill me. I’d just come back ‘cause it’s totally not my time yet. But it hurts like a bitch if you get killed when it’s not time. But anyhoo…” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well then, I super promise it’s not me or Laney doing all the bad killing things. I can’t even stand blood! And green? It’s not really my color so... toodles.”

  Roxy really did it then. She rocked that whole, cocked hip with one hand propped on it combined with the cute bent opposite knee that crossed in front of her standing leg thing. Ugh. Hard to describe, but that’s what she did and it was cute and sexy and… The woman had to die for two reasons: being so cute and those shoes.

  Unfortunately, Sam’s hold remained and Roxy spun on one of those four inch heels. She teetered and tottered toward the front door.

  Caith slumped in Sam’s arms, lulling him into a false sense of security. The moment he released her, she dove for the door again, intent on burning Roxy and everyone surrounding her to the ground.

  The world wouldn’t miss a half-dozen people, she was sure of it. Besides, hadn’t Bob had his ass handed to him by Roxy? He wouldn’t mind dying for the cause, right? It sounded logical.

  Except Sam caught her again, chuckling as he dragged her backward. “C’mon, sweetheart. You have other people to see.”

  “But she…”

  Sam cuddled her close. “I know, but remember our thing about compromise?” She whimpered and nodded. “Well, I’m claiming one of my freebies. No killing the Reaper.”

  “Are you sure?” She hoped he wasn’t sure. “She’s not really the Reaper. She’s the Reaper’s cousin.”

  “Yes.”

  She whined and leaned against him. “I hate you a little bit.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “As long as you love me eventually, I’m okay with that.”

  With those parting words, he released her and left her standing near the door, torn between hunting and destroying the too pretty, awesome shoe-wearing woman, and hunting and fucking Sam senseless.

  Because if Satan’s niece could love anyone, it was gonna be Sam. She just had to figure out the whole love thing first. Which… could take a while. At least they both lived forever.

  She followed her mate, ignoring the remaining tween reps and waving off the few persistent ones. “Go talk to Uncle Luc. Promise him you’re not the magic wielding, green-eyed, asshole-creating dickwad.” She paused for a moment to let her gaze linger on the half-dozen males. “And know if you lie to him, you’re not lying just to my uncle, you’re lying to the High Lord of Hell himself. So I will gladly kill you and he will gladly keep you. Period.”

  “And I won’t stop her!” Sam’s shout blew past her.

  The urge to stick out her tongue was strong. Strong.

  Instead, she surveyed the destruction, several tables were broken from Roxy’s fight with the bouncers, but she was more concerned with the massive door. She sighed and then frowned.

  “I gotta call Dead Nettle.” She hated it, but she had to.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s the one who built the door in the first place. It’s got his magic all over it. If a brownie outside his batch tries to do anything but clean it,” she shook her head. “It’s not pretty.”

  “But he’s not taking your calls,” Sam reminded her. As if she needed reminding.

  “Yeah, I know. But he’s not gonna have a choice.” She lifted her gaze to her mate. “I gotta go see him and you have to come along so I don’t kill him. At least, not until he’s done fixing the door and weaves Jezebeth’s magic into the wood. Or even Momma R. Someone other than him.”

  He pressed his lips together in a deep frown. “I don’t like the way he’s treated you.”

  “Aww…” She fisted his shirt and tugged him close. “Look at you being all sweet.” Her wolf chuffed, happy their mate was protective, even though Caith
was more than capable of taking care of herself. “Looking to get laid?”

  Sam glared at her and then lowered his head. He settled his teeth over the mark and bit down gently, sending a raging bolt of arousal through her. When he finally released her, she trembled in his arms and his whisper made her need even worse. “I don’t need sweet words to get you in bed, do I, little wolf?”

  No, he really, really didn’t.

  Caith shook her head, fighting to banish her desire for the gel. She had to do… something. Wait. Call Dead Nettle. Get him on the phone and then drag his brownie ass to Hell’s Chapel. Right. She had a plan.

  But then Sam had lips and they were making their way up her neck and… maybe she’d call Dead Nettle in a minute.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Caith walked a little bowlegged and her pink bits ached more than a little—she officially worshipped shower sex—but she was very, very mellow when she climbed from her car. Which Sam, of course, drove. He’d put it back together so he forever claimed the driver’s seat.

  Men.

  Then again, she didn’t care too much because, man, she felt so good in a well-fucked, thoroughly exhausted way. Still buzzing from a good half-dozen orgasms, they decided hunting down Dead Nettle was better than trying to get him on the phone. It was obvious the brownie was avoiding Caith. If she was standing in front of the smaller man, deadly blades in hand, she couldn’t be ignored any longer.

  Sam wanted her to leave the swords at home. They were just going to talk to Dead Nettle.

  She told him she wanted world peace and getting that was just as likely as her leaving her swords behind.

  In the end, she got her way and she ignored Sam’s frowns of disapproval. Her swords were a comfortable, heavy weight on her back, the handles within easy reach and her hands itched to palm them. Something was… weird. Some tension in the air pricked at her nerves and her skin hummed with unease.

  The house they approached was nice enough. Old and partially restored, it resembled a mansion more than simply a large house. It once belonged to Momma R’s great-great-great-cousin four times removed, but the woman wasn’t part of Momma R’s direct line. So, when she died, she died, and ownership then moved on to the next person in line.