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

of my name.
    Because he was mine. Period. No amount of magic, violence, or death was going to take this boy from me.
    Looking down at him as he lay on the soft carpet, I couldn’t imagine ever hurting him. I couldn’t imagine finding joy in his heartache.
    Maybe… maybe Papa Finn was right. I wasn’t my mother. I wasn’t Vesperia Matilda Morningstar. (Yes, I gave my mother a horribad middle name, too.)
    Sure, I was a hellfire-forged bitch who would tear apart anyone who crossed me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a softer, nurturing side. I’d proven that over the past year with Bryony.
    I curled up, forming a “C” around him, and struggled to push my worries aside long enough to get some sleep.

5
    M y eyes were barely open when I pulled into the parking lot at the bar. I’d hardly gotten any sleep, jerking awake every time Bry breathed funny. I chugged three cups of coffee before even leaving Momma R’s, but they hadn’t made a dent in my exhaustion. I hated the idea of leaving Bry, but I needed to be in the bar, digging out information and grilling the tweens who crossed the threshold. I was even ready to rough up an angel—gel—or two if necessary.
    I’d called in favors, tapped on Manon’s coffin, called my werewolf ex on his cell phone and stopped by Truck, the troll’s, bridge and asked him to let me know what he heard while he was hanging out.
    Now I waited.
    Jezze followed me to the front door and I stuck the key in the lock, brushing my finger over the runes etched into the metal before twisting. The wards fell away, and I shoved the door open, letting the regulars file in while I took up the rear. I joined the witch behind the bar, pouring drinks and taking care of opening business as usual.
    Everyone who bellied up to the bar was asked the same questions. Had they heard about anything strange going down? Anyone else sick? What’s the word going around Hell?
    A few had heard mumblings, but none had any real clue. Why had I kicked demons out, again? I was kinda regretting that choice.
    Oh. Right. It was because my uncle held my mate’s angel feather, basically keeping him captive. My mate who killed to save me, which was what sent him spiraling down the path to evil. My mate who lost that last, tiny spark of good by blessing Bryony.
    All those reasons — that’s why I kicked demons out.
    Wait! My mom had way too many giggles over the whole situation, too. That was the “get fucked” cherry on top.
    I wasn’t going to lose it. I wasn’t. Not now anyway. There was no telling what’d happen later.
    I managed a smile for one of my regulars. Dick D was a surly old dwarf with a bad attitude who didn’t take shit from anyone. Ever.
    “Heya, Dick.” I poured him a shot of whiskey; good stuff to start, swill once he had his drink on. He also absolutely hated being called Dick. With his given name being Richidenorin, I’d shortened the mouthful to Richard, then Rich, then Dick.
    He hated them all. It was what made things fun.
    “Where y’off to?” He curled his lip and grumbled.
    “Me?” I caught the glassy look in his dark, deep-set eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Dick. Got a business to run.”
    “Late. Fucking late.”
    I frowned at him, silently wondering if he’d tossed back a few before he came to the bar. “Late for what?”
    “Because I said so, that’s why!” he snapped, shaking his meaty fist. Except… he wasn’t shaking it at me. He wasn’t even looking at me.
    I followed his glass gaze and realized he was having a very heated discussion… with the beer taps.
    “You’ve pulled this before! You have!” Another shout, more glaring at the taps, and he slammed his hands on the bar. “Don’t think I’m not onto your bullshit.”
    “Dick, man, have a seat.” I dropped my bar rag, leaving my hands free. “I think you’ve had a few too many. Lemme grab you a cup of coffee.” I’d never heard of a dwarf that couldn’t hold his liquor— especially not