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

year later and the death of my own pet gator still stung. Jezebeth still kept trying to drag me out to steal some new pets from zoos, but I hadn’t been able to nut up just yet.
    “You know, Brigitte just laid eggs…”
    I shot her a glare and I knew my eyes glowed red, anger overriding sense for a moment. “No.”
    “Fine,” she snapped, not fazed in the least. That’s what sucked about having best friends. They didn’t take the bullshit.
    Instead, she returned my snarl and then stomped around the car, flopping behind the wheel. While she started the car and roared down the street, I called up Berg and told him to “borrow” a van from my ex, Justin. It was too good a temptation for the brownie-demon. He’d been around when all that crap went down last year and was firmly in the “beat everyone who hurt Caith” camp.
    It didn’t take him long to zip onto pack lands, “borrow” the van and show up at the house. He helped me get the stoners nice and tidy inside, even getting the joy of punching one when he got violent. The rest were too dazed or passed out to care. The drive to the bar was quick, and we tossed them in dry storage in the back, hands and legs tied.
    While we waited for them to sober up, I made a few calls. Momma R reported that Bry was the same, which was a small blessing. I knew being at his side wouldn’t solve anything. I needed to be handling this, but that didn’t take away the need to be near him.
    The rest of my conversations revolved around the drug. My contacts knew nothing, but several had seen the symptoms in their friends—friends who wouldn’t touch drugs, which meant they ingested it through tainted water or something similar. I kept a few samples to give to Papa Finn and then called on one of the deeper rings of hell. I needed a fire that burned so hot there wasn’t even smoke or ash left when it was done.
    Sounds from the back told me the stoners were waking up and I headed back there, laughing when Berg was anxious to join me. Most of them were too groggy and useless to answer questions so I turned to Jacob. It’d been his house, after all.
    I crouched in front of him and slapped him across the face a few times, the last handful with more force than necessary. “Yo. Dipshit. Time to wake up.”
    I smacked him again because it was fun.
    His eyes shot open, the irises blazing red, and filled with pure malevolence. “Go to hell, mongrel bitch.”
    I didn’t let my surprise show, instead tilting my head and quirking a brow. The voice that came from the human’s mouth was deeper—more feral—than the way he’d sounded earlier.
    “Who the fuck are you calling a mongrel, assfuck?” There was the good breeding and manners I’d been raised with. I mentally snorted. Not.
    “I’m going to enjoy taking you down, pretty pretty,” the voice in Jacob’s throat growled. “I bet you beg when you’ve been put in your place. Beg and whine like the good little bitch you are. Aren’t you, puppy?”
    “You fucking.” Punch . “Son.” Slap. “Of a whore.” Punch . I clenched my fists, palms heating with my rage. “Who are you and what are you doing in my town?”
    He laughed, a mad cackle with spittle flying from his lips. “Would you like to know, pretty slut? You will soon enough. Soon, soon, soon…”
    He chuckled again, throwing his head back as the eerie laugh echoed off the walls. I pushed to my feet and gave him a rough kick to the ribs. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole. You clearly don’t get it, do you?” I called on the fires of Hell. It came easier now, jumping to my fingertips now that I’d gotten back into the habit of dipping my toe into the den of evil. I cradled the roiling ball, tossing it back and forth from hand to hand. “I’m the niece of—“
    “Oh, I know who your uncle is.” He poked out his lower lip. “But he can’t help you now, can he? No one can, little girl. No one is going to save you or your little bastard bo—“
    I snarled and