I shoulda bought a bigger bat. Maybe one of those aluminum jobs. Or steel if they made those. I bet I could get one on the internet. I could get anything on the ’net. Right then, something a little stronger would be appreciated. Metal wouldn’t leave such a big mess for the brownies to clean up once the dust settled.

I cradled the wood, familiar weight settling in my palm, melding with me like an extension of my arm. Louisville Slugger, a classic, a good friend no matter how recently I’d snagged him from the sports store.

“Batter up,” I mumbled under my breath. Then again, I could have screamed the words and not a single being in the bar would have noticed. “Fucking thelac warriors,” I grumbled. “They should know better than to drink themselves stupid.”

“Incoming!” Jezebeth, Hell’s Chapel’s resident bar bitch, and best young witch in the city (her words, not mine), shouted and then covered her ears. She sank beneath the counter, hiding, while I handled things.

I ducked, missing a flying beer bottle, and gritted my teeth when it crashed into the mirror behind me, shattering it into a million small pieces. Custom cut mirrors were expensive. Dammit.

The general betweeners, called tweens, fled at the first sight of trouble, scrambling toward Jezebeth to settle up and scurry home to their mommas. The remaining patrons stuck around to see how the night would unfold. Demons and angels—dems and gels—slumped in their chairs, watching the melee, picking up their glasses when someone needed a table to throw.

I climbed on top of the bar, black soled calf-high Fluevog boots leaving smudges on the polished cherry surface. I’d have to remember to give the brownies a little extra cash to clean up the mess.

I kicked bottles and glasses aside, traveling along the wood toward my prey. Pretty boy had to poke the thelacs and now he was learning what it meant to tangle with something more powerful than himself. Thelacs were seven feet tall, heavily muscled, black-skinned, ageless warriors and they were no one to mess with. They had all the time in the world to become the baddest of the bad.

On High and Hell, save me from idiots. Since I had a few gels in the vicinity, I hoped someone was listening.

My leather pants moved with me like a second layer of skin, tight and hugging my curves. It was like being naked while dressed. The black hue let me blend in with the night, become one with the darkness when it enveloped Orlando, Florida. Home of that famous mouse and… Hell. Well, a tiny bit of it, anyway.

Right now, the clothing moved with me while I flipped from the bar, ass over head, and around again until I landed in a protective crouch in front of the asshole who began the violence. Thelacs had never heard of sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. They tended to simply focus on the sticks and stones half of the saying. I faced off against the warrior, bat still gripped in one hand.

“Aw, Caith…” The warrior pulled his punch and I ducked, his fist missing me by a hairsbreadth. The scent of his charred skin filled my nose. The males must have been training inside Mount St. Helens again. There was a reason true thelac warriors were darker than night. There was no better place to train than in the bowels of an active volcano. At least, in their opinion. So, while they sweated to the oldies, they were burned to a crisp.

Still facing the warrior, I straightened once the danger slipped past and met the demon’s red-eyed gaze. “Don’t Aw, Caith me, Drek. This is my bar and you and your friends are tearing it to shit because some pretty-boy punk troll is an idiot.”

Said troll must not have liked being referred to as a punk. Though it could have been the “idiot” portion of my comment.

The shift of air, a delicate wind brushing my back in a caress, alerted me of his movement. I spun on the ball of my foot, stepping to the side and shifting my weight as I twirled around to crack him on the back of the head with my bat. Wood splintered on connection, showering the bar floor.

Which… was why I really wanted a metal one.

I dropped what remained of my weapon with a frown and poked out my lower lip. I’d had him the longest of all my bats. Three whole days. “Sorry, Louis.”

“Heads up!” I didn’t take my gaze from the now unconscious troll but raised my hand over my head, fingers uncurled. Another hunk of wood flipped through the air to land in my palm. I so loved Jezebeth in a non-lesbian way.

One of Drek’s friends shuffled toward me, boot scraping the concrete as he eased forward. I swung, the world blurring with the rapid movement, and shoved the end of the wood against the stranger’s chest. “Don’t test me.”

He snorted, rolled his eyes and looked to his friends. They snickered along with him as the idiot took another step forward, pushing against my hold. I really hated baby warriors. “You had to bring the babies, huh, Drek?”

I readily admitted I wasn’t much to look at. At five-foot-four inches, I seemed short compared to half the beings that crossed my threshold. My curves made most doubt my strength, even though my frame hid rock solid muscle beneath my layer of jiggle. While I may have the face of a pixie and the hair of a goth chick who spent too much time dying her strands with Kool-Aid, I was the ultimate Hell’s spawn with a capital Bitch.

I smiled, showing my pearly whites, shaking my head as I pulled the weapon from his chest and turned toward the incapacitated troll. The surrounding dems chuckled, making me smile even wider. They knew me, even if the warrior-in-training didn’t.

I dropped into a crouch next to the unconscious punk, and fingered the splinters at my feet. To the thelac, I probably looked like I was checking the man for injuries.

Yeah, I totally wasn’t.

Between one heartbeat and the next, I was at the warrior’s throat. I used his body against him, climbing and clinging to his massive frame. I scaled him like a spider monkey on crack and shoved the remainder of the bat’s handle against his skin with one hand. The other fisted his strands and ripped his head back, forcing him to focus on me. And only me.

Drek held the rest of his guys back while I dealt with the asshole. “Now, what part of ‘don’t test me’ did you have trouble with?”

I dug the wood deeper, just short of breaking skin. Evidence of his recent volcano training flaked and fluttered to the ground. At only six feet, he was a younger male, but the cracking of his flesh showed me he was very young. Perhaps only two hundred years.

He swallowed, Adam’s apple sliding beneath the stake. “N-nothing.” His voice was barely a whisper but everyone heard him.

I released him, shoving him away by his head as I hopped to the ground. Yeah, I got a little hint of joy from watching him stumble. That joy fell flat when he came at me. I looked to Drek and he nodded as if giving me permission to set the idiot on his ass.

I snapped my head from side to side, listening as the joints cracked and loosened for a little fun.

Dems had different levels of power, from the lowliest of the low who could barely start a fire, to those just a hint beneath the High Lord himself. My mother was the Dark Lord’s sister which put Mom into the latter group. That meant, as the High Lord’s niece, I had a damn big dose as well.

My fingers burned, snippets of hellfire rising to bubble beneath my skin and I embraced the heat. It’d been a long time since I’d tapped into that side. The warmth coursing through my veins felt good.

I took one stomp toward him, and then two. The third brought him within range, but I waited for the fourth and then struck him in the chest, palm open, dead center, over his heart. I hit him with every ounce of power I’d managed to grab in that short time.

The big ass motherfucker flew backward, torso leading the rest until he whacked one of the building’s support posts. His head cracked against the wood and concrete before he slid to the ground in a boneless heap.

Yeah, idiot wasn’t waking anytime soon.

Brushing my hands together to rid myself of his stench, I turned toward Drek, leader of this band of troublemakers. “Get the little puppy and leave.”

No one ever said I was nice.

“Caith… He’s just…” the warrior wheedled.

I shook my head. “No. Don’t make excuses. It doesn’t take training to be polite. Actually, you know what?” I snapped my fingers. “Gimme a sec.”

I strolled forward, moving toward the fallen warrior. The crowd immediately parted, giving me a wide berth. I squatted and licked the pad of my thumb. I tugged on the powers of Hell, added my own personal curse, and reached for his forehead. I’d like to see him try and get into the bar now that he was marked.

A large, midnight black hand grasped my forearm. I followed the hand to the wrist, up the arm to stare right into Drek’s eyes. “Don’t, Caith. He’s young. This is a good place. He’s learned his lesson…”

I glared at him. Drek was a good guy. Well, as good as any demon could be. “I swear to Hell, Drek, he pulls another stunt, fucks up my place, or looks at me funny, he’ll get marked and banned.”

He released me, backing up, giving me space, his expression pleading. “You know what a mark means in this place.”

“Of course I do.” I nodded. “I made the rules in this city when the first brick was laid. Order. Secrecy. Fuck, if you can’t do that, at least discretion. And above all, don’t fuck with me and mine.” I held out my arms, encompassing my bar, Hell’s Chapel. “Does this look orderly? Or unfucked with?” A shake of my head and I spit on the ground before the unconscious warrior. If I couldn’t mark him, I could at least curse him for a little while. “Get ’em out. Both your warrior and the troll. If I see either within six months, I’ll feed ’em to Jezebeth’s gators. Alive.”

Jezebeth’s bright orange head poked above the crowd, letting me know the witch had finally made it to the top of the bar to watch the proceedings. “Are you sure they can’t have ’em now? I mean, a troll and a thelac warrior… the babies would be so happy.”

Men went into action then, knowing how much I tended to indulge the bar bitch. The warriors grabbed their fallen comrade along with the troll that’d been involved in the whole mess and hauled ’em out by their feet. Both men groaned as they passed me, but I didn’t really have any fucks to give.

The crowd dispersed, patrons righting their tables and chairs. Well, what was left of them. Half the customers waved to get a waiter’s attention, ordering another round while others worked on polishing off what they had in hand.

I returned to my spot behind the bar as everything mellowed once again. I automatically reached for a glass, mixing the next order without missing a beat while Jezebeth pouted at the other end of the counter. I hated seeing my best friend sad. “Aw, Jezze, buck up. I’m sure someone will eventually piss me off enough to send them home with you.”

The bar bitch perked up, zeroing in on me. “You think so? What if we invite…”

I rolled my eyes. “We are not inviting people here with the hope they’ll mess up so bad they get sent to the gators.”

Jezebeth glared at me but returned to her station, glasses clinking as she mixed and poured drinks.

The night wore on, quiet and calm, just the way I liked it. I enjoyed running Hell’s Chapel. Giving dems, gels, and tweens a safe-ish place to congregate, interact, and get a fucking beer at the end of a long day.

It was just… Sometimes it was a fuck-ton of trouble.

“Night, Caith.” Jezebeth flitted toward the door. Funny how a woman wearing a pair of combat boots managed to flit. Like an orange-haired, scary bitch fairy.

With a shake of my head, I went back to wiping down the wood, performing busy work before I went back to my quiet home. I’d been living there for more years than I could count, and even after all this time, it still seemed empty and cold. I slept there. That was it.

A creak of the front door let me know some idiot obviously didn’t know the rules. The whole town knew the rules. Even the humans who knew of tweens knew the rules.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders, pushing away the tension of the day. I couldn’t kill anyone. Uncle Luc was really pissed after the last soul I sent along had annoyed him so much that On High had taken the ghost off his hands. On High literally made a deal with the devil.

“We’re closed.”

The feet kept moving toward me, but it wasn’t the shuffle of a zombie. At least I’d gotten the priestesses to quit trying that one for a while. Apparently it was hilarious to send a brain-craving body into Hell’s Chapel at the end of the night. Though, they were typically hidden in the utility closet in an effort to scare me. They never stumbled through the front entry.

Naw, this was strong, full of something akin to life. Dems sounded different, the thump of their feet against the ground. Heavy, almost downtrodden as if Hell pulled on them constantly. This one was lighter.

The scent of tween didn’t reach out to me, either. In general, they tended to cause my gut to twist a little. Not painfully, the goodness simply tweaked something inside that made me a little twitchy. Not all of them, but a few races were…

This, however, was more than a happy tween. It more than twisted my gut, it shoved at something else within me. Shoved hard.

I raised my head, knowledge of what stood before me already tumbling through my mind before I even laid eyes on the newcomer. “You’re a fucking gel.”

Of all the bars, in all the cities, a damned pure angel had to walk into my place. He wasn’t like other gels who frequented Hell’s Chapel. Ones who were the result of a tween and fallen-gel banging. Those men and women were more like tweens with goody-goody wings despite one of their parents’ fallen status. They came and went to On High with ease, but spent most of their time in the tween.

The man, the angel, tilted his head in acknowledgment and then stared at me, crystal blue eyes boring into mine. His short black hair seemed to sparkle in the dimmed bar lighting and I tried to ignore his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and obviously chiseled abs. He wore a leather coat that fell to his knees with a tight shirt underneath and pants that molded to his body. I wondered what kind of package those pants hid from view. I was a dem—sorta—not a saint. Besides, a hot man—gel, dem, or tween—was a hot man.

He wore all black and not a hint of traditional angel-white in sight, which meant he had to be hiding from something. I sure as shit didn’t want that “On High flavored something”coming into my place.

I growled low. A fucking nod wasn’t enough. Not nearly. “So, gel, what do you want?”

“Bourbon, two fingers, two cubes.”

I snorted. “You have to be fucking kidding me. Gels don’t drink.”

Among other deliciously pleasurable things. On High didn’t let gels do any of the fun stuff.

He quirked a brow. “So, dems know everything about angels?”

“Everyone knows enough to know that angels were banned from drinking by On High. Care to tell me prohibition has ended?” I propped my chin on my palm, elbow on the bar. I wanted to appear relaxed, at ease. He didn’t need to know I fought my desire for him, trembling with need. Even my inner-wolf, the beast typically happy to let my demon side run things, whined over the man.

He strolled forward, muscles flexing as he walked, sliding beneath the leather, and his boots thumped against the concrete. “No, it hasn’t. Then again, I wouldn’t necessarily call myself an angel at the moment either.” He moved an arm, encompassing the room. “I am in the tween, after all.”

He wasn’t just in the tween. He was in Hell’s Chapel.

“What would that make you, then?”

He smiled. “Half way to fallen.”

I tucked the information away, too taken by his dimple, the way his eyes danced in the light, and the width of his shoulders. I bet he could bench-press a few hundred pounds without On High’s help.

Back to business. I could fantasize about him later. “And you’re here because?”

He leaned forward, bringing us closer together, the hint of purity and rain tainted by a cloud of sulfur easing toward me. “Because you run this town.”

I snorted.

He ignored me and kept going. “And because I’m going to be hunting in it.”

That got my attention. “Excuse me? I keep the peace, and if needed, hunt.”

“It’s needed.”

“Fuck you.” I knew what was needed, dammit.

His expression clouded, gaze going distant, for a brief moment and then he brought two fingers to his temple in a mock salute. “Wonderful offer, but it’ll have to wait until later. Seems I’m needed elsewhere. Rain check on the drink.”

He disappeared in a swirl of gray smoke, the pristine white fog of a gel nowhere to be seen.

Fuckity-fucker-fuck.