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

voice that pushed him into action.
    Another part of me wanted to punch the man in the face.
    Sam lowered his fist, the brimstone within his palm slowly fading away. “I… I’m sorry.” His gaze remained locked on his hands. “This isn’t why I came here. I wanted to help.”
    “The best help you can be,” Papa Al growled, “is to get out of here until you can control yourself. Caith doesn’t need this.”
    I met Sam’s eyes, his red orbs boring into mine, and I tried not to read too much into his expression. The brand on my palm, his last gift to me, rippled with awareness. I stroked my fingers over the mark, remembering that night. The last time I’d seen him—in my house in Bryony’s room. He gave Bry what little grace he had left, blessing my son, and then his touch had branded me.
    White wings consumed by black fire. He’d branded me with… himself. I secretly thought of it as a claiming mark, a way for Sam to stake his claim and that someday he’d find his way back. But the longer we stared, the brighter his red eyes glowed, more and more of that darkness surging.
    I knew what he was and yet I didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to let him go again.
    Sam slowly nodded, not saying a word as he turned away and walked into the darkness. Between one step and the next, the shadows swallowed him whole, the only other sound coming from his wings flapping.
    I touched a hand to Papa Al’s back. He rolled his shoulders, brushing off his inner beast, and leaving skin in its wake. He didn’t look any less fierce.
    “Thanks,” I whispered. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I probably wouldn’t have been able to push Sam away. I would have given in, welcomed him into my arms, and that wasn’t something I could afford. Not with Bry in danger and the town fucked. I couldn’t afford to be distracted.
    Papa Al grunted and yanked me into a tight hug, releasing me as quickly as he’d snatched me close. I followed him into the bar. “Before your fallen boy showed up,” he spoke to me over his shoulder. “I got a call from Helene. She’s sending Finn over to check your taps.”
    “Good.” And that’s all I said for a while. Me and Papa Al didn’t really have to talk much to be comfortable with each other. He said it was the wolf thing. Wolves were just happy to be with packmates. They didn’t have to go do weird activities or field trips to be happy.
    Yeah, he hadn’t signed many permission slips when I was a kid. Not that the idea of permission slips was around in the 1400s, but if they had been a thing… he wouldn’t have signed ‘em.
    The worst of the damage was cleaned up by the time Papa Finn got to the bar, dowsing rod ready. I gestured to the line of kegs behind the bar, along with the bottles of liquor that’d survived. “Check it all. I don’t know what it could be. Best to be safe.”
    Then I waited while he waved the dowsing rod around, checking everything twice. Then he ran the tap water, just to be sure. Hell, he’d even checked the toilet water to be thorough and… nothing.
    What the ever loving fuck?
    “Nothing here.” He shook his head. “You might want to have the filters on your taps replaced, but that’s bacteria, not demonic.”
    “Great.” I groaned and dropped my elbows onto the bar, propping my chin on my hands. “I would prefer it to be in the booze. At least then we’d have a lead.”
    “We’ll find something soon.” The pat on my shoulder from Papa Finn wasn’t reassuring in the least.
    I huffed, taking a break for a little pity party, and then walked my fathers out. I threw the bolt, brushing my fingers across the lock to seal the wards and added a hint of hellfire to be safe. At this point, I’d called on so much fire, I might as well enjoy it. My moral stance was gone and I needed to be alive to help Bry.
    I strode to the center of the bar, staring down at the scarred concrete. “You know, Uncle Luc, now would be a great time to show up with an