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

explanation or two. Maybe a little intel. You know, something that would help me keep your nephew alive .”
    Once more, no answer. Nothing psychic or otherwise from the devil. Which flipped one of my “shit’s about to get real” triggers. The imp from last night had clearly known something, and there was no way a pussy imp would know something that Lucifer didn’t. Except, that was the feeling I had coursing through me. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it wasn’t good.
    I dug in my pocket and tugged out the card Killian Howe had given me. With everything that’d happened, I’d forgotten my brief encounter with the devil’s advocate. Killian’s presence didn’t make sense, either. Why would Uncle Luc send a lawyer but not answer my summons?
    I flipped the card over, scanning the number on the back. If I couldn’t talk to the Lord of Darkness, then his lawyer would give me some damned (heh) answers.

6
    K illian’s office was pretty swank; a big assed building with a string of names gracing the door (including Howe), valet parking, and pretty little secretary who asked if I wanted coffee or water. I’d already scared the hell out of the valet attendants with my rust bucket, so I figured I’d just keep to myself for now.
    Although, if I was still in my experimental phase and unmated, that secretary looked mighty fi—
    “Lesbian siren,” a deep voice came from my right and I held onto my composure by a thread.
    I didn’t jump or jolt with the sudden presence, and I slowly panned my head until I met Killian Howe’s gaze. “Excuse me?”
    He tilted his head toward the secretary. “She’s a lesbian siren. It’s why you were eyeing her like a steak even though you have a mate.”
    I wanted to rip the smarmy smile off his face. Literally.
    Instead, I remained quiet, not responding to his knowing chuckle either. Fucker.
    “If you’ll follow me…” He turned and strode off, leaving me still staring at the lesbian siren who apparently pushed all of my sexual buttons.
    Shaking my head, I went after him, following him into his office and settling into a chair across from the desk.
    Killian was as impeccably dressed as before, custom suit fitting him perfectly, and the office was so lavishly decorated I was sure the Prince of Vanity in Hell itself must have been responsible for the design. The desk was constructed of black marble veined with gold, the walls were hung with priceless art, and there were more than a few pieces I was sure had been acquired on the black market. Even the bottled water he offered was one of those brands that was stupid expensive. I didn’t touch it, Bry’s illness still fresh and unending.
    “So,” I leaned forward and propped my elbows on his desk, making sure I left smudges. “Killian, I’m super not in the mood for games. Why don’t you lay it out for me nice and simple, m’kay? Who are you— what are you—and where the hell is Uncle Luc?”
    Killian shook his head with a laugh. “You really are a spitfire, aren’t you?” He tsked. “No time at all for common courtesy? We’re in the tween, girl, not sitting in front of your uncle’s throne.”
    The rest went unsaid. He wasn’t going to answer because he didn’t have to. He answered to Uncle Luc.
    I cleared my throat. “I see. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” I reached back and drew one of the swords from its sheathe and carefully laid it across the desk, tip pointing right at Killian. “You’re right,” I nodded. “We’re not sitting by Uncle Luc’s throne. We’re in Orlando, and that’s where I keep my throne.” Which I was so gonna order online once this bullshit was handled. “So, you’re going to cooperate, or we’re going to have some serious issues. M’kay?”
    He laughed. The asshole mother fucking fuckhole actually laughed at the sword. There weren’t many creatures—On High, in Hell, or in the tween—that would laugh at a threat from Satan’s niece.
    “Please, sweetheart.