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

by Celia Kyle

  Where he would stay, no matter what others said.

  “Caith, you can’t keep the baby.” Momma R’s tone was cajoling and soothing at the same time. The woman had been trying to convince her to hand Bry off to another brownie family for days.

  “Amazingly enough,” she tossed Bry in the air with a laugh. “I can.” She caught him and blew a raspberry on his stomach. “I can keep you, can’t I? Yes, I can. Oh, yes I can.”

  Bry’s giggles rang through the air, bringing a wide smile to her lips.

  “Infans…” Uncle Luc had even joined in on the baby-based intervention. “We are not meant to be parents. Even your mother, Hell love her, did not raise you.”

  They were not addressing Caith’s mommy issues. “Good thing I’m not her, huh? I’m only half of her, Uncle. The rest of me is from five pretty kick ass guys.” She puckered her lips and opened her eyes wide, surprising Bry. “Oops, I said a bad word. You don’t say that, baby boy.”

  More laughs and happy wiggles followed.

  “Caith,” Papa Eron carefully eased into the seat beside her. “You know I would be thrilled with a child in your life.” She nodded. Finally someone was seeing sense. “But it should be your child. This is not the natural cycle, little flower.”

  “It is,” she could out stubborn them all.

  “Puppy,” Papa Al murmured as he crouched before her. “This is not your pup. You can have ones of your own.”

  Tears overran her eyes, blurring her vision, and she fought against their insistence. She released a rueful chuckle. “With whom?”

  Not Sam. The man had been gone for a week. So much for not disappearing again.

  Bry, sensing her distress, fussed and whined in her arms.

  “Oh, Tempmommy is sorry.” She cuddled him close. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tempmommy?” Papa Percy rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “You named yourself for him?”

  “I’m the closest thing he’s got to a mom, but he had a real mother. That will never change.” She brushed her lips across his head. “Will it, sweetheart?”

  “Your mate will give you pups. You know this.” Papa Al was gruff. Probably upset by the idea of her having sex.

  “What mate?” She pressed her palms to Bry’s ears. “Sam disappeared after he took care of Nettle. He hasn’t shown up, hasn’t called. There have been no smoke signals or telegraphs. Nothing. So no, I don’t think he’ll give me pups, do you? No man’s dick is that long.” She snarled the last bit, rage at Sam breaking through her rant.

  Papa Al’s eyes flashed yellow with his glare and then he pushed to his feet, turning his attention to the rest of the room’s occupants. They’d cornered her in the living room, all five of her fathers, her uncle, Momma R, and Jezebeth. Her biological mother was there in spirit, Uncle Luc said.

  Right.

  “Did you know this?” He didn’t direct the question at anyone in particular, but not a single person in the room met his gaze. “How did I not know of this?” he snarled, the wolf rushing forward in full force. One did not anger an alpha. “I thought he was incapable of running away.” Now Papa Al’s attention was on Momma R. “Use his feather and bring him here. Now.”

  An order that the alpha would expect to be followed. So not happening.

  “Don’t shout orders at her.” Papa Percy jumped into the argument. Her father really did seem to care for Momma R.

  “When she can take away my daughter’s pain, I’ll shout all I want!” her werewolf father roared.

  Papa Percy opened his mouth to reply, but Momma R placed a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, Percival.” Papa Percy glared at Papa Al but remained silent as Momma R spoke again. “I would, if I was able, but I am not, so I cannot.”

  Papa Alrick frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Momma R frowned. “The day Caith returned with Bry alone, I went to my sanctuary to retrieve his feather. Caith was concerned—” that was an understatement “—so I was going to call him to my home by force. Except, his feather was gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?” Dammit, now Papa Leth was talking. Things were always less bloody when he remained silent.

  “I mean something—or someone—broke through my protection spells and took it.”

  Those first seconds after hearing Momma R’s news had been the most soul sucking of her life. Her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that someone on earth was stronger than the witch. It just… couldn’t be. There was no way.

  “But… There isn’t…” Worry filled Papa Finn’s voice.

  Uncle Luc voiced the same conclusion Caith had reached. “There isn’t anyone—in the tween.” He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling when, in truth, he was staring at On High. “But he can do what he damn well pleases when it comes to his gels.” He sighed and turned to Caith. “I am sorry, my infans.”

  Truly, Uncle Luc didn’t seem that sorry. After all these years, she could tell when the King of Lies, well, lied. And there was something there… Something in his body language, in the way his gaze didn’t quite meet hers…

  Something she’d ask about later. Now wasn’t the time to dig into her uncle’s brain.

  She shrugged and rocked Bry. “It’s… It’s not fine. It is what it is. I can’t rage at him. It’s not like he’ll listen or respond to Satan’s niece.” More tears, more heartache, more unfamiliar emotions that clogged her throat. “I guess it’s good we didn’t truly mate, huh?”

  That’d been yet another devastation to add to the pile of shit that her life had become.

  The whole room froze, each body remaining still as her words echoed off the walls.

  Seconds ticked past—had they reached a minute?—before someone finally spoke.

  “Perhaps you should explain, infans.” Uncle Luc was awfully calm for being the High Lord of Hell and source of all evil.

  “I mean that I claimed him. I couldn’t not sink my teeth into his flesh,” she murmured.

  “And I see his bite on your shoulder, Caith,” Papa Al snarled. Perhaps having her volatile werewolf father in on this conversation was a bad idea.

  “What else is required for a werewolf mating, Father.” Warmth flushed her cheeks.

  “He…” Disbelief filled her werewolf parent’s voice.

  “Didn’t. I did.” She focused on the carpet. “I didn’t realize it at first. We were in the tub and…” She figured any evidence of his release was washed away by the water. And then they’d never made love anywhere other than the bathroom, hot tub… It’d always involved water. “I thought… But the connection isn’t there. Even across species, there’s typically something more than a distant awareness that ties a couple together. It might not be telepathy or fully sensing the other’s emotions, but it’s more than just being a random acquaintance.”

  “He’s a gel, Caith.” Jezebeth’s soft words drifted into the silence.

  “Yes, he is.” She easily agreed with that truth. “But my wolf doesn’t feel fully mated. She isn’t at ease. She’s pacing and whining. When he was nearby, she wasn’t so fretful, but now that he’s gone, I know the truth.” Caith raised her gaze and met Jezebeth’s intent eyes. “I shared myself with him, but he didn’t in return. And now he’s gone.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Which is fine. I don’t need him.” She closed her eyes and refused to look at anyone in her family. “I’ve lived this long without him, I can keep doing it. I’ve got my bar, I’ve got my family, and I’ve got Bry. I don’t need him.”

  Caith refused to admit her lie. Because she did need him so very, very much. Her wolf whined for him, constantly urging her to go to the gates of On High to find him if she must. A demon in On High. Right.

  Papa Eron took Alrick’s place at her feet, dropping to his knees before her. He gently stroked Bry’s narrow back, soothing the baby with that single touch. “We all need our other half, little flower. I know you’re in pain, but what about the boy. Do you wa
nt him growing up without a family? He has a heritage and a future that has nothing to do with being the child of Hell’s princess. You know this.”

  His words were smooth and soft, calming despite the way his message tore at her heart. “What if he doesn’t want to be a brownie like the others? Maybe we’ve pigeonholed them. Maybe they’d love to have other jobs than cleaning up after others. Maybe—” She sobbed, unable to hold back the tears that’d been battering her for days. “Maybe—”

  She couldn’t get the words out and the soft strokes of hands on her back made it worse.

  A quiet, timid voice cut through her cries, the lyrical rise and fall overpowering Caith’s weeping. “It is best if the child remains with her. At this time.”

  Caith didn’t care that the statement was quantified, that it sounded as if her time with Bry would someday be banished. She raised her head and focused on Blooming Aster.

  The brownie hadn’t begrudged Caith for Dead Nettle’s death. Sometimes a man needs killing whether he’s a brownie or one of On High’s humans. Some beings shouldn’t be allowed to breathe.

  Everyone else whirled on the small woman, each growling or snarling in their own way. It seemed everyone forgot about a brownie’s ability to be seen yet unseen inside their own home. She seemed unaffected beneath the collected menace.

  “Why?” Caith spoke to her and her alone.

  The woman shrugged. “You saved him. He’s bonded to you as if you were his mother. Taking him from you,” she shook her head. “It would do more harm than good.”

  “But what about his family?” Papa Eron gently questioned.

  The brownie shook her head. “Caith is his family. If he wishes to be raised as a brownie, our family will teach him all he desires. If he decides on another path, we’re sure she’ll help him.” The woman who stood tall beneath the High Lord of Hell’s fury now appeared timid. “We would ask for a not so simple favor.”

  Anything.

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  “You said that perhaps all brownies might not wish to be…”

  Caith knew she’d been right. Others thought of Bergamot as an anomaly. He was only half-brownie. Of course he wouldn’t have a brownie’s desires to clean and care for others. She figured it was a matter of personality and dreams and had nothing to do with his race.

  “Whatever they want to do. If they need training, we’ll find it.”

  “It’s…It’s not many.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how many.” Bry squirmed against her, fussing and burrowing into her chest and she knew he was getting hungry again. “I want you all happy.”

  The brownie flashed her a grateful smile and rushed off, disappearing once again. With her departure, the room’s occupants returned their gazes to Caith.

  “I’m keeping him. I’ll have help if I need it and if it’s decided that he’ll be better off cared for by brownies, well, he’ll be cared for by my brownies. He’s mine now. I’ll always be in his life and he’ll always be in this house.” She jerked her chin up, nose pointed in the air and jaw stiff so everyone knew she was deadly serious. Because at that point, aching for her mate and feeling more alone than ever, she’d kill anyone who tried to take Bry from her.

  Papa Alrick was the first to nod and acknowledge her statement, accepting if not agreeing. He shot everyone a glare, telling them without words that if they didn’t agree he’d make them agree. The rest of the group slowly got in line, their grudging acceptance welcome. They didn’t have to be overjoyed at her decision, she just didn’t want them fighting her.

  Alrick padded forward, massive, fur-lined arms outstretched. “Come to Grandpapa, little Bry,” he murmured and snatched the boy, swinging him into the air.

  Bry reacted as always, flashing a wide gummy smile, filling the air with his carefree laughs.

  “Don’t make my grandchild lose his lunch on the carpet,” Papa Leth’s voice was gruff as he caught Bry before he landed in Alrick’s arms once again. “Are you a braw one? I’ll teach you to wield a sword. Your tempmomma is good, but you’ll have big arms.”

  “No talking about swords already.” Uncle Luc easily scooped Bry from Papa Leth’s arms. “We need to talk about hellfire first…”

  “Uncle Luc,” she was such a crier now. Ever since she’d met Sam… “You’ll give him hellfire?” She pushed to her feet and approached her uncle. The man was the High Lord of Hell, but she knew he was a softy at heart. “For me?”

  “For him,” his response was gruff. “He’s your child. I can’t have you crying in your cereal if someone hurts my nephew. Brownies are tough, but he needs to be tougher. His momma is the princess of Hell and he needs to be able to defend himself against whatever the tween throws at him when you’re not around. It isn’t because I love you,” he snarled and she and Bry both chuckled.

  Uncle Luc simply rolled his eyes and pressed his lips to the baby’s head. The flash of white light that slid from her uncle to Bry was expected as well as the glow that enveloped him from head to toe. By the time he pulled his lips away, the deed was done.

  “There. He’s prepared to be your child. I would, however, invest in a few spells against fire. You were a precocious child and learned which materials burned hottest versus those that smoked the most.”

  Caith grinned and reached for a drowsy Bryony, rubbing her fingers gently up and down his back as the child nestled against the High Lord of Hell’s broad chest.

  She didn’t have Sam, but she had Bry and she had her family. She didn’t need anything else.

  Someday she hoped she’d believe the lie.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  For the second time in the last three weeks, Caith shot from sleep to hyperawareness in a heartbeat. She used the same carefulness as before, practice keeping her from moving or altering her breathing. She didn’t gasp or twitch and remained in place as she let her senses absorb the sounds and scents in the room. Her wolf growled, constantly on edge since they’d claimed Bry as their own.

  The whistle of the wind and rustle of leaves were familiar. As were the delicate flavors of her natural scent and the new aromas of powder and baby that permeated her space.

  And yet… What yanked her from slumber?

  Nothing in her room.

  Silently she rolled from bed, not making a sound as she placed her feet on the cool floor or when unsheathing the twelve-inch blade that rested on her bedside table. She’d prefer one of her swords, but age taught her a shorter knife was better for close quarters. If she truly needed other weapons, she had enough stashed throughout the house to meet her wants.

  Remaining quiet, she padded across the room and carefully stepped into the bathroom. They’d converted her space to be a pass-through bathing area, installing a doorway that led directly into Bry’s room on the other side. She wanted him as close as possible and her fathers convinced her the baby needed a room of his own as much as she did.

  Did she really want a kid toddling around with a two and a half foot sword?

  The point had been taken and work began immediately.

  Now she cursed herself for allowing Bry out of her sight. First, she’d check on the boy and then she’d seal him in as she hunted the source of her unease. He’d be inaccessible to anyone but her family and those who lived within the house. Momma R promised and Uncle Luc gave her his assurances as well.

  Your baby will be safe, infans.

  Caith paused in the doorway to Bry’s room and allowed her gaze to scan the interior. No sense in chopping the kid into pieces in the off chance he’d suddenly learned to walk. Her fathers said she’d started stumbling around overnight and she still wasn’t sure if they were kidding or being serious. Considering her parents’ identities, it was a toss-up.

  When her attention settled on the crib, her heart froze, squeezing as her lungs refused to grant her air.

  He was still the tall imposing presence she recalled. The same yet differe
nt. His hair was longer, brushing the base of his neck. His skin was darker than she remembered and his back… Shirtless, she noted the markings that now covered the skin. Midnight black wings were etched into his flesh. Almost like a tattoo, but she knew better. She knew what they represented.

  He’d fallen. Irrevocably fallen from grace and into her uncle’s clutches.

  “Sam,” she whispered.

  He didn’t jolt or twitch when she spoke. So he knew she’d been standing there. What would he do now? Was he so far gone that he’d hurt…

  Sam turned his head, his glowing red-eyed gaze meeting hers over his shoulder and his lips tipped up in a small grin. “Hello, Caith.”

  Her wolf howled for Sam, calling to him, beckoning him to come to her and finish their mating.

  “What are you doing here?” She took a step into the room, fist still tight around the blade’s handle. He was Sam, or was he? There was no telling when a gel was this far gone, this fast.

  His back rippled, those midnight wings sliding under his skin. The markings, the tattoo, was merely a veil that hid them from prying eyes. If he whipped his shirt off amongst the human population, they’d be seen as tattoos and nothing more.

  Tweens knew better.

  Sam returned his attention to Bry and her gut clenched. Would he harm the baby?

  “He’s beautiful. Perfect. I’m glad you have him.”

  Could dark angels experience that emotion? She’d hardly ever come into contact with them. Uncle Luc always kept those gels far from her. It didn’t matter that he was the ultimate fallen angel himself. He didn’t want her tainted with those beings.

  “Where have you been?” Her words beat at the quiet and she took another step forward. His back undulated once again.

  “He’ll have a hard time. It’s good that he gave him hellfire.”

  “Why did you leave?” Another step and his scent caressed her.

  It still held a hint of sweetness, a lingering flavor of his connection to On High. On its heels came a blinding rush of sulfur and heat that nearly sent her to her knees. It was strong, stronger than Uncle Luc’s. Was this why she was never exposed to the angels who’d embraced her uncle’s life? Uncle Luc had to be able to control the feelings, the sensations, but his newest gel obviously couldn’t.