Free Hell's Gates (Urban Fantasy) by Celia Kyle, Lauren Creed

if they have anything in common.”
    “They have my bar in common.” My destroyed bar. I grabbed one of the half-empty beer mugs and sniffed it, the wolf coming forward to give my nose a nudge. It didn’t detect anything unusual, but I hadn’t sensed anything strange at Momma R’s, either.
    “We can have Finn check those, too.” Jezze gathered a few drinks to take back for testing.
    If someone managed to taint my liquor supplies, I was going to be damn pissed. Well, more pissed, anyway. My anger already burned so hot I was one blink away from torching anyone who looked at me the wrong way.
    With Hell’s Chapel in tatters, and the tweeners going psycho after chugging one of my drinks, it didn’t make sense to stay open. I wasn’t in the mood for people today anyway.
    When the remaining patrons—minus Adara, I was starting to feel bad about that—woke, we encouraged them to leave with the same homeward bound compulsions.
    Once the last tween left, I padded to the front door, hand on the lock so I could throw the bolt. But as I was swinging it shut, a hand thrust through the opening and kept it from closing.
    “We’re closed,” I snapped. Whoever was on the other side pushed back and I shoved harder. “Fuck off, fuckhead.”
    Another shove from the stranger and my wolf growled. I flexed my hands, ready to unleash my claws on whoever decided to push me. When the asshole pushed again, I let go and stepped back, hoping to throw the interloper off balance.
    The newcomer didn’t trip. Merely stood at the threshold, black leather jacket, midnight pants, and thick-soled boots in place. A mist of darkness surrounded him, a fine mist that swirled around his ankles.
    Sam. I swallowed hard, meeting his dark gaze. Samkiel, fallen angel. My mate. My ex? My beast snarled at me. I’d marked him, sunk my teeth into his flesh and claimed him as my mate. There was no way Sam could be my ex. Ever. My wolf knew that. And my body…
    My body craved him. I flushed hot, the memory of his hands on me, his mouth capturing mine while he thrust forward. My nipples pebbled, and I fought to breathe past the sudden flush of arousal and need. I wasn’t going to whimper and whine. I wasn’t going to beg and plead for his touch.
    A touch that could hurt me, scar and burn me. Eventually kill me. It was what happened when an angel fell to Hell. Pure evil taking over all that goodness.
    He’d fallen for me—for Bry. He’d snapped Dead Nettle’s neck as if it was nothing and then he’d just… gone. Called away and I was left with a shattered heart, a baby, and a soul that mourned him.
    Sam stared me down, hard jaw set and eyes flashing red. I remembered when those eyes had been blue, shining with the purity of his connection to On High.
    It hurt to look at him. To see what I once had but couldn’t have again. We’d had… something before he fell. Love on my side, at least.
    I wasn’t stupid enough to have let that emotion linger in my heart all this time, though. At least, that’s what I told myself.
    It’d been a year. A year on my own, with my friends and fathers for company. A year of raising Bry. A year of life. All year I’d told myself that I didn’t want to see him ever again. I was fine without him. Fine. And while I’d occasionally flip-flop on that point, I was pretty damned sure that now was not the time to deal with my ex-ish.
    “Caith,” he murmured, that dark voice washing over me like an intimate caress. He took a step closer and I stood my ground. I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t.
    I was afraid of myself.
    “What part of ‘we’re closed’ didn’t you understand?” I crossed my arms, staring him down. I ignored the tempting heat that came off his skin, the remnants of Hell clinging to him. “Get lost.”
    Before I fell apart.
    “We need to talk.”
    I grabbed the door, intent on shoving it closed once more, but he pushed it, shoving his way past the spelled panel of wood. But he only got a step and a