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

by Celia Kyle

  The initial entry to the dungeon consisted of a large, circular room, aged and stained cobblestones lining the surfaces. Four hallways led away from the space, luring visitors deeper into the midnight depths, but she wasn’t concerned with what remained hidden. No, she couldn’t understand what remained in sight.

  Bodies, dozens of bodies, filled the open space. Scores. And not random tweens, either. She could handle seeing the dead bodies of unknowns, it was something she’d become accustomed to over the years. But seeing her friends—friends—was a different story.

  Bile rose in her throat, threatening to fill her mouth. Her attention shifted from face, to face and she dropped her swords to wrap arms around her stomach, clutching her belly as she fought the nausea.

  “Caith?”

  “Sam,” she wheezed and bent over, battling the new waves of grief and heartache. “Do you see them?”

  His large hand stroked her back, Caith’s fire automatically parting to allow her mate’s touch. “Who are they?”

  She lifted her head and forced herself to survey each body to confirm what her mind refused to acknowledge.

  “Daffodil, Freesia, Carnation, Peony, Iris…” Another sob escaped when her gaze landed on the tiny body nearest to her. She was such a sweet, sweet baby. Hardly thirty years old. “Tulip.” Tears stung her eyes. “They’re Dead Nettle’s family. Every single one. He… He used their souls to come after me. I fucking hate blood magic.” So much blood… She forced herself to reach for her sword, grasp the handle and stand. “He wanted me…” The metal sparked and scraped the ageless stones, cutting through hundreds of years of grime and exposing the paleness beneath. “And now he’s going to get me.”

  Caith’s hellfire flared with her swirling emotions, the colors rolling from white to blue to red, that heat unstable and anxious. Her wolf tensed and crouched low, ready to pounce and tear into their enemy. Where her hellfire was reckless, her wolf was cautious. Where the fire roared into a situation, the wolf waited and observed. Those two sides were often at odds within her, fighting for supremacy, but it seemed—for now—they recognized the benefit to both approaches.

  Hellfire would burn hot and fast, and while her enemy writhed in pain, the wolf would finish him off.

  Dead Nettle was truly dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

  “Second from the left,” Sam’s low voice seemed like a massive boom in the silent space.

  She tipped her head back and the wolf lent its assistance, helping her sort through the scents. It fought beyond the stench of death from her friends and continued to hunt for Nettle.

  Hunt and discover. Second from the left.

  That particular hallway entry was blocked by bodies four deep. Familiar shining eyes weren’t sparkling any longer but dead and flat. Pale with the lack of life.

  “Do you want me to…”

  To move them. That was the rest of his question.

  She shook her head. “No,” she licked her lips and closed her eyes. “I’m going to…” She fought her tears. “I can’t let them become fodder for other magic users. I can’t let them remain as they are.”

  “You’re going to turn them to ash.”

  She nodded. “I’m going to turn them to ash.”

  And die a little inside as she did.

  Sam’s heat overpowered the soothing warmth of her hellfire and his body coated her back as his arms encircled her waist. “Can you do it with me here, holding you?” She swallowed hard and nodded again. “Then I’m staying. I’ll catch you when you fall, Caith. And then we’ll seek justice.”

  She closed her eyes and ignored the soft sizzle as a tear streaked down her cheek.

  Hell reluctantly granted her the heat she needed, slowly gifted her with the level of warmth necessary for her task. Humans were easy to cremate, but tweens…

  So, she drew it into her, sliding it into her heart as she gathered bit after bit. The flares eased past her eyelids, visible despite the fact she hid her orbs. The wind whipped at her, tugging at her clothes and sending her hair fluttering in the breeze. All the while, Sam remained plastered to her back, his hold unyielding.

  His presence allowed her to do what was necessary.

  She lifted her hands, holding them a foot apart as she called the hellfire and directed it to that empty space between her palms. It twirled and danced, the hint of evil that was inherent in hellfire seeming to ache for the taste of flesh. That was another reason she hated asking for help with such a task. Hell always coated her actions with a thin veil of evil. Not enough for most to realize the soft layer of darkness, but Caith did. She always did.

  “Release them, Caith.” Sam’s murmur shattered her hesitation and she freed the tumbling sphere of heat, allowing it to roll through the room. Without looking she knew when it stroked against her friends.

  Daffodil, Freesia, Carnation, Peony, Iris… Tulip.

  It didn’t take long for the hellfire to do its job, leaving behind the charred scent of death and destruction. The heat still bathed her front and she forced her lids apart and focused on the hovering ball of hellfire. It danced in the air, the swirling mass seeming to beg for another assignment. With luck, its next task would be Dead Nettle. Even luckier, he’d still be alive when it struck.

  She refused to look at her surroundings, refused to acknowledge the small piles of gray that represented her friends and loved ones.

  Love. Yes, love. Her mother knew nothing of the emotion, but once again, Caith wasn’t her mother’s daughter. She knew of love and knew it’d been shattered by Nettle.

  She couldn’t wait to shatter him.

  Caith reached for the burning orb and it gleefully hopped into her hand, caressing her palm with its warmth. “Let’s go.”

  The tears remained unacknowledged. If she didn’t think of them, they didn’t exist.

  Sam released her and remained silent.

  Silence. Lots and lots of silence.

  Her boots hardly made a sound as they moved down the darkened hallway, her eyes vigilant as she sought any threat. The hellfire danced forward, anxious to destroy something else. It floated five feet ahead of them and then whipped back to her side like a child not wanting to lose its mother. In some ways she was the parent of this orb.

  The clang of metal on metal reached her, cutting through the quiet, and Caith froze, listening for another. Her wolf crept forward, sending her fur sliding free of her pores and turning her nails into claws. She could still swing a blade, but the sharpened tips gave her an added edge if she was disarmed. Her canines lowered, fangs growing as the beast changed her body.

  She stared at herself in the mirror once, wanting to see exactly what others witnessed when she was ready for true battle. Her lover at the time was right. She was a person’s worst nightmare. She wasn’t the devil, she wasn’t an ageless warrior, she wasn’t a werewolf… She was them all and more.

  Nettle was about to meet everything that lived inside her and she didn’t have a hint of remorse.

  The sound didn’t come again. Or rather, that sound didn’t come again. Instead it was a jangle of chains followed by a curse. Followed by… the thin, desperate wail of a newborn.

  Bryony. The sweet little boy.

  “Bry,” she released a hoarse whisper, pain etched in the single syllable. “Sam, he has baby Bryony.”

  Evil may live inside her, but there was just as much good and it roared for the small boy. There was no waiting, no cautious approach, not timid creeping forward now.

  Caith brushed off Sam’s soft touch and shoved past the hovering orb of hellfire. She roared down the hallway, hunting Nettle through the darkness. Her feet pounded on the cobblestones, her stomps echoing off the walls like a ghoulish laugh.

  Dim light finally reached her, the glow of Nettle’s torch reaching out for her and Caith’s own fire greeted it with a sharp reprimand. The natural fire retreated to its source, slowly guttering and blinking out. Nettle’s curse was unmistak
able and she smiled as she stepped into view.

  The hellfire hovered at her side, illuminating the room. In particular, it showed the stooped brownie approaching the torch with a spell on his lips.

  “That’s pointless, Nettle.”

  The brownie gasped and spun toward her, the look of surprise quickly transforming to rage. “You.”

  “Me.” She stepped into the room, conscious of Sam’s location. She wanted him protecting her back, but she didn’t want him killing Nettle, either. She couldn’t let her mate lose any more of his soul because of her.

  She let her gaze flick to the altar in the center of the room. The massive stone slab was coated with blood fresh and old. On top of those dried stains, lay Bry. She remembered going to his mother’s baby shower, recalled eating cake with blue icing and forcing smiles to her lips. He was snug in his mother’s womb, waiting to make his appearance. He was such a perfect, precious child.

  Now he was a child with runes carved into his skin and blood dripping from wounds on his arms and abdomen.

  Nettle raced from the torch to the boy, placing the altar, and Bryony, between their bodies.

  “Toss the weapons.” Nettle lifted a blackened blade and placed it against the baby’s chest. “Now.”

  Caith was quick to comply. She didn’t need metal to do the dirty work. She had hellfire, fangs, and claws. “You’re not leaving here alive, Nettle. You know that.”

  His face reddened. “I will. I’ll walk out of here as quickly as I please and you won’t do a thing.” He lowered the knife, pricking the baby’s skin. “Or I’ll kill him, I will. Kill him dead like your papa did your gator.”

  Caith’s hellfire flared, sparking her fingertips as the roiling sphere grew in size. It threatened Nettle, bolting forward while she could not.

  “Uh-uh. Keep that bit back.” Nettle gestured at the orb. “Get rid of that too. None of that hellborn magic.”

  She glared at the brownie and raised her hand, gesturing for the ball to return to her. It stuttered in its movements, whining in its own way. It wanted to taste blood almost as much as her wolf craved the coppery fluid.

  “What’s this about, Nettle?” She flexed her fingers and the pads of her fingers thickened, taking on the texture of her wolf’s paws. “Why this destruction?” She tilted her head at the squalling infant. “Why the baby? Why did you murder your entire hive?”

  His face turned purple with anger. “It’s your fault, it is. If you’d just died that first time I wouldn’t have had to use so many of them, but you lived.” Nettle sneered. “Because of this one,” he jerked his chin at Sam, “you lived and more and more had to die.” He pointed the knife at her. “It’s all because of you.”

  “But why?” The more he talked, the less he focused on the child. She needed to keep him distracted. She didn’t care how he’d managed to destroy Jezebeth’s wards or enchant zombies and vamps. She just wanted the brownie distracted. She trusted Sam and knew if he had the chance, he’d save the boy, which would leave cleanup to her. “After all these years, why me? Why now?”

  “I’s tired is all. All the tweens, all the dems and gels, always making brownies do things. Go and clean and fix and… We run this town! You do nothing without us! We rid ourselves of you and then Orlando will be ours!”

  Caith glared. “There is no ‘we’ or ‘ours,’ Nettle. You’ve killed them all! Your entire hive is dead.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “Dead for a moment, but once you’re gone, I’ll return them and all will be well. I just need to get rid of you.” The tip of that knife penetrated skin once again. “Bryony’s death will help me—”

  She snarled. “How will you return them from ash?”

  An inch of the metal crept into Bry’s flesh, but no farther as Nettle focused on her and shock coated his features. “You didn’t.”

  “You think I’d allow my friends to be used? To be turned into brainless zombies or wraiths?”

  “We’re not your friends!” Nettle roared, following the shout with a hysterical laugh. “We’re not your friends. You use us, you use us all, and now we’ll use you. We will. Orlando will be ours. We’ll have it all.” Manic eyes met hers and that blade punctured Bry once again. “You just have to die first.”

  “Nettle…” Fury burned, scorching her veins and searing her skin. It carved flesh from bone and she wasn’t sure she could restrain herself much longer. The evil, the hate inside her, demanded it be released. It’d tear through the brownie, rip out his soul and shove it into Hell. The male would not reemerge. Ever.

  The brownie focused on Bryony. “It will not hurt, sweet boy. One push and you will release every brownie from slavery. Such a small sacrifice, sweet…”

  “It’s not going to happen, Nettle. Release him.” She shoved the words past gritted teeth, the pain of holding back her shift pummeling her with agony.

  “No,” he shook his head and raised his arm. The knife glittered in the light from Caith’s hellfire. “This will solve all my problems.”

  A flash behind Nettle distracted her for a moment, drawing her gaze to the shadows behind the brownie. What she saw had her eyes widening.

  Sam with his deadly eyes burning with the fires of Hell lurked behind Nettle.

  There was no doubt of his plans. He was there, so close to the crazed male, and it’d take…

  “Goodbye, sweet Bry.” That arm lowered, the blade rapidly growing closer to Bryony, and Sam moved.

  The gel rushed forward and gripped the brownie’s skull between his hands. One, giant wrench was all it took to snap Nettle’s neck. One fierce yank to decapitate the brownie. Now dead, the body tumbled to the ground and Sam tossed the head away.

  It ended. In a split second, the threat to her was gone. But how much had it cost her mate?

  She stared into his eyes, fighting to see some hint of goodness that may remain after the death on his hands. “Sam?” She took a step forward. “Are you—”

  “Finish him, Caith.” His voice was husky and rough, not the smooth silk she enjoyed.

  Finish him. Right. She had to scorch him from the earth to ensure he never returned. “Yeah. Check on…”

  She was speaking to thin air. Sam was no longer standing on the other side of the altar. He had vanished, a cloud of midnight smoke. He left her. He left her alone in a room bathed in blood and ash with a small child covered in its own slices and cuts.

  The sulfur stung her wolf's senses and she fought against the need to sneeze and rid herself of the evidence of Sam’s fallen status. Because he was fallen now. Completely, irrevocably tossed from On High.

  Pain pummeled her with the agony of his abandonment and loss. But it wasn’t just his desertion that speared her. Heartache over what she’d made him do sank into her bones as well.

  Bryony released another weak cry, the sound tearing her away from the hurt of Sam’s departure. She had a job to complete and didn’t have time for tears. She had to rid the world of Nettle and then take care of the small child who now depended on her.

  A glance at Bry revealed he was safe for the moment, the child too small and weak to roll off the edge of the altar. She rounded the platform and crouched beside Nettle’s body. She needed to remain close, unwilling to inadvertently harm the baby due to distance.

  The hellfire was quick to respond. Quick to jump to her fingertips, anxious to destroy what had caused so much pain. She reached for Nettle, lingering fingers hovering an inch over his bare skin. The heat reached for the dead body unable to wait to rid the world of his presence.

  She dug deeper into Hell, reaching for more and more power, desperate to pour everything she had into the small body. He wasn’t going to hurt her ever again, he wasn’t going to hurt anyone ever again as long as she lived and breathed. She’d destroy every trace of the damage he’d caused. The pain of the past two weeks assaulted her, joining the heat of her fire. It all reached into Nettle’s body so she could end him before another magic
wielder could bring him to life once again.

  Gone. Gone. Gone.

  The first lick stroked his skin, charring the flesh with the sudden heat. She couldn’t wait for the rest of him to be wrapped in flame. Couldn’t wait to watch the red and white and blue fire consume him from head to toe. He’d taken so much… Tulip, sweet Tulip. Now she was taking from him. Another spot of blackened skin. The fourth caught his clothing, sending a river of fire along the fabric. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly.

  He’d burn, burn, burn…

  Except a voice broke into her desire.

  “I see you still depend on hellfire to do your dirty work.”

  Caith froze in place, the flames ceasing their continued travels along Nettle’s body, and she turned her attention toward the source of those words. “You…”

  “Me.”

  It wasn’t possible, there was no way he could… She’d… And yet he stood before her. No, not before her. He was beside Bry. The sweet child continued his cries, pain still etched in his small features, and yet again his tiny life was threatened.

  “It is me. Now, move away from the brownie.”

  She swallowed hard and pushed to her feet ignoring her wolf and fire’s desire for blood. Her beast stretched against her skin, claws digging into her flesh and stretching the thin layer that kept the wolf captive. Fur slid free of her pores coating her skin in the midnight hue of her animal. And the fire… How it burned. It burned with the need to destroy not just Nettle, but this man as well.

  She hadn’t seen this asshole since… Chicago.

  Chicago with all the heat and pain and screams and cries… It wasn’t the first time she lost control but it was definitely the worst.

  “Liam,” she took a deep breath and released it slowly. “It’s been a long time. The last time I saw you it was your bare ass while you had your cock in Mary Katherine.”

  His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even flinch when she brought up his infidelity. “It hasn’t been that long, dear Caith.” He ran a long finger down Bryony’s small chest. “Have you missed me?”