King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel (19 page)

For the first time since she came back and found Cara gone, the well inside broke apart. She hadn’t realized until now how much she’d cut out of her life when she’d left for California.

Or how much her betrayal of Kellen’s trust had cost her. She’d lost her mother through no fault of her own, but Kellen’s defection was all on her.

Rowan slipped between the oak trees that bordered the property and disappeared into the early-morning mist and forest that covered acres of land behind the bed-and-breakfast. There, she finally let everything out, with only the birds, squirrels, and dead leaves to hear her sobs.

Chapter 19

“A
re we going to discuss what happened earlier?”

Azaiel glanced back toward Rowan. She was leaning against the worn brick wall a few inches away, her hair twisting in the breeze that buffeted them. Her large expressive eyes shone in what dim light there was, and her full mouth tantalized.

Discuss it? Hell, no. The fact that he’d not been able to think of much else pissed him off, and there was no way he was going to have a conversation with Rowan James about their kiss.

It was more than a kiss.

He clenched his jaw tight and cleared his throat. He much preferred silence between them. The woman twisted him up, and he needed to stay focused.

“No.” His answer was curt and left no wiggle room. Most creatures, human or otherworld, would take heed and leave him the hell alone.

“I want to talk about it.”

Azaiel’s face darkened. Of course, Rowan James wasn’t like most creatures. He glared at her. “Do you really want to get into it right now?”

She shrugged and walked toward him, her steps concise, assured. “Nothing else is happening, so why not?”

She was right. So far the evening had been pretty slow, which was odd. They’d taken the heads of two blood demons about an hour ago, and nothing else had crossed their path.

The darkness they’d sensed days ago had descended with a bang, and currently, Salem, Massachusetts, was the hottest bed of demon activity in the country. Mallick was stretching his muscles, and it was all hands on deck. Azaiel and the others from the League, along with the coven and several bands of human demon hunters, were the only line of defense the local populace had. With Halloween closing in and all sorts of events planned the town was full.

It was a veritable feast for any demon, and the eating was good, though the diet in this part of town seemed pretty damn lean. At least at the moment, which didn’t bode well for him when stuck with a female who wanted to share her feelings.

“I think you
want
me to believe you’re this,” she gestured wildly with her hands, “arrogant asshole. But you’re not.”

“I’m not?” He tipped his head back. “If I remember correctly, that’s exactly what you called me.”

She shook her head. “No. That’s what you
want
me to think but, you see, an asshole wouldn’t put his life on the line for an old woman that he’s never met.” Her eyes glittered, their glistening depths like jewels. “An asshole would have taken what was offered the other night, no questions asked. He wouldn’t have stopped. Wouldn’t have worried about my feelings.”

“If your . . . if
Kellen,
hadn’t shown, I’m pretty damn sure I would have gotten exactly what I wanted.” Why the hell was she pressing the matter? Irritation rolled through him, and he ran his hand through his hair.

She bit her lip in that way that kinda drove him crazy. Then her tongue darted out and swept across the bottom, leaving a sheen of moisture that glistened in what little light there was.

Ignoring the obvious, which was his need for silence, she took another step forward until there was less than an inch of space between them. “Are you going to tell me why you’re trying so hard to make me believe you’re a dick?” She arched a brow. “Because I’m not buying it.”

She was dangerous. This little witch.

A smile spread across her face, and his heart rate sped up.

And she knew it.

Azaiel bent low until his mouth was a whisper from hers. “Maybe I just don’t like you all that much.”

She exhaled, and her eyes widened, the dark centers thickening until the blue nearly receded. “I think you’re full of crap.” She made a noise in the back of her throat, and somewhere down there, between his legs, things that should stay calm and focused suddenly stirred.

“You do,” he managed to get out.

She nodded. “I do.”

Silence fell between them, and he found himself holding his breath. She moved again, and this time her breasts pressed against his chest. Azaiel closed his eyes, inhaled her scent, and wondered at the audacity the little witch possessed.

“I think,” she continued in a slow breath, “we’d be fools not to at least explore some of the chemistry between us.” She exhaled. “Don’t you feel it, Azaiel? This connection?”

Her mouth was so close, her scent intoxicating. She splayed her hands out across his chest and looked so hot that it took every ounce of control Azaiel had to keep his hands off her.

Feel it?

He arched a brow. His cock was hard, more than ready, and the witch knew it. And still she pushed. All of this was wrong for so many reasons she didn’t understand. Suddenly he was tired of the game and pushed her away.

“Don’t ask for something you can’t handle, Rowan.”

She stared up at him, the teasing manner gone, leaving only a serious glint in her eye. “What happened to you, Azaiel?”

Azaiel ignored her and glanced down the alley once more. For several seconds only the harsh echo of silence was between them, and the anger that stirred within his gut churned harder, faster. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth,” she answered simply.

He glanced back toward her and shook his head. “You wouldn’t be able to handle my truth. It’s not pretty.”

“Nothing’s pretty, Azaiel. Not even the shiniest, most brilliant diamond. There will be imperfections. Cracks and irregularities. At the heart of everything there is darkness. It’s what you choose to do with that darkness that matters.”

“You would find good in me?”

She blinked slowly and took a moment to answer. “I would.”

“Why?” he asked, not so much to carry on the conversation, but because he was truly curious. In those few precious seconds, he studied her heart-shaped face intently and knew he’d never meet another woman like her, in any plane of existence.

“Because . . .”

A shadow moved, just beyond the halo of gold cast by the streetlight on the corner of Finch and Murphy, and Azaiel held up his hand, silencing her answer. Which was probably for the best.

Dark wisps of smoke twirled faster until they converged into a form that was definitely a . . .

“Sand demon,” Rowan whispered.

He nodded but remained silent as he watched it solidify. They were nasty creatures, bottom feeders yes but dangerous all the same. Once a victim was scented and lured into their embrace they struck quickly, sucking in the body whole, like quicksand. It was a fast death, yes, but extremely painful.

A human body was literally sliced apart by thousands of razor-sharp teeth that lined the sand demon’s large mouth and gullet. Of course, once spit out into District One—the main processing center in Hell—it would be put back together. Lilith needed bodies that worked down there though most captured by sand demons wouldn’t come close to resembling their former human form. They’d spend the rest of eternity looking like a haphazard mishmash of body parts.

“There are three more,” Rowan whispered urgently, her smaller frame moving forward as she tried to maneuver past him. She was all business now, and he held out his arm to stop her.

“There’s a couple walking toward them.” Rowan’s urgent whisper was punctuated by a tug on his arm.

Azaiel glared at her, irritated. “If you don’t shut your mouth, the damn things will get away before we have a chance to kill them.”

“Don’t be so grumpy,” she shot back.

For the hundredth time he cursed Priest’s insistence that he patrol with Rowan, yet there’d been no choice. At least one of the League had to stay close to Rowan. Just in case.

His gut tightened.

Just in case Mallick himself showed. There was no way they could let the demon lord anywhere near Rowan. If he managed to get his slimy hands on her, the game would change yet again.

And it could cost Rowan James her life.

“Azaiel, we need to move out.” She was much too close to him, and he moved away, wanting only distance and peace.

“Wait for my signal,” he growled.

“Who said you were in charge?”

There was the attitude he’d been waiting for. He needed her to focus on the danger at hand. His arm shot out, and he gripped her tightly, turning so that she felt the full extent of his anger. He was done playing her game. Done with her fantasy imaginings. What was the point?

“I
am
in charge,” he growled. “This isn’t a game, witch. You may think you’re the alpha in this whole mess”—her cheeks reddened at his comment—“but make no mistake, you’re just a little girl in over her head. If you want to survive this . . . if you want your family, your lover”—he ground out the words—“to survive this, then you’d better learn to take orders and listen the fuck to me.” Azaiel bent low until his breath warmed her cheeks. “Are we clear on this?”

She yanked her hand away. “Lover? What are you—”

A low moan drifted between them, one filled with anticipation and darkness. They both whirled around. “Shit.” Rowan muttered. She took off running down the street.

Azaiel swore, several ancient words falling from his lips as he strode toward the drama now playing out. A young couple, out for a night of partying, was now surrounded by four sand demons. Their human eyes couldn’t quite see what hid amongst the shadows, but they sure as hell sensed the danger.

The young woman clung to her boyfriend or husband’s hand, tugging at her long blond hair nervously as they turned in a circle. They stumbled, obviously drunk, making it incredibly easy for the demons to lure them into a trap.

Rowan was almost upon them, and she yelled loudly, her voice echoing into the night wind. “Hey, assholes, why don’t you pick on someone who can actually fight back?” She’d withdrawn a sidearm—one of her charmed guns from what he could see—and aimed it at the sand demon closest to the couple. She quickly fired off several rounds, and the woman screamed loudly, backing away and dragging her husband straight into the two demons behind them.

Their mouths opened wide, and a strange melody drifted in the air. It was a hypnotic blend of notes designed to lull a potential victim into a state of paralysis.

The sand demon closest to Rowan—the one she’d shot at—howled in pain, his head morphing into a swirl of sand and mist. It was a quick repair, and seconds later the demon had grown several inches and stared down at Rowan, with beady, bloodred eyes.

She was furiously drawing a charm into the air—small luminescent designs appeared like whispers of smoke—but she wasn’t fast enough.

Azaiel shouted to gain its attention, as he armed himself with a couple of his own, extraextra specials. He spoke in an ancient tongue, one he knew the demon would understand.

“Leave now or die.”

The tallest demon—the one closest to Rowan—paused and turned his massive head toward Azaiel. It smiled, a blatant sign that it had no fear. It was all Azaiel needed. “Actually, we’re just going to go with . . . die. Open wide, you ugly son of a bitch.” He ran forward and shot one of his grenades down the bastard’s throat.

Rowan dove away and grabbed for the couple but only managed to get hold of the male. She rolled to the side, taking him down with her, and Azaiel scooped up the woman, as he tossed grenades at the remaining demons. He managed to get two of them, but the third whirled away, just out of reach.

The two he’d caught exploded, and force of it sent him flying though he used his body to shield the woman from the brunt of the blast. The air filled with the putrid scent of burned demon flesh, and he set the woman aside, shoving her into a doorway. “If you want to live, you will not move. Understand?”

She nodded, stunned and more than a little confused.

“Rowan!” His eyes searched the darkness—the blast had taken out the streetlights on both corners. With the swirling bits of demon remains and the massive surge of sand, he couldn’t see shit.

Azaiel scrubbed at his eyes, cursing madly—pissed at his lack of skills, at the powers that had been stripped from him. In another time and place he would have been able to kill these bastards sight unseen. He would have thought it, and it would have been done.

The demon’s song reverberated and crashed into his brain. He felt the pull. The strength and determination, and it chilled him. This one had some legs on it.

He charged toward where he thought Rowan might be and gritted his teeth as light filtered through the clouds of crap in the air. She was there, beams of light emanating from her hands as she shielded the man with her body. The sand demon rose above her, its mouth open wide, and the human male, so susceptible to the dark notes it sang, pushed forward, trying to move past Rowan.

“Rowan!” She turned, pushed the man to the ground, and he tossed the remaining grenade at her. She caught it, spun around and threw it up at the creature.

An incredible wailing noise erupted from within the beast, and Azaiel rushed forward, grabbed Rowan and pushed her backward as the demon exploded, blowing chunks of mist, sand, and guts all over the place.

He felt the sting of shrapnel slice into his body. And then there was silence. Only the whistle of wind in his ear.

She moved beneath him, and he rolled away, staring up at a clear night sky filled with twinkling diamonds. His back hurt like hell, but he knew it would pass. He’d been stripped of a lot of things, yes, but his ability to heal wasn’t one of them.

“Are you all right?” Rowan sat up and leaned over him, her fingers on his face. The velvet sky was gone, replaced with a vision of red hair, blue eyes, and a mouth that he longed to touch.

“I’m good.” His answer was curt. “Check on the humans.”

She stared down at him for several seconds, then moved away, leaving only the cool wind to ruffle his hair as he got to his feet. The carnage was impressive. Azaiel reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bag containing fluid and a lighter. He bent down, aware that Rowan was somehow charming the couple—hopefully removing any remnants of memory—and he set the pile of demon waste to flame.

It didn’t take long, maybe a few minutes at the most, and when it was done only he and Rowan stood on the darkened street.

“That was . . .” she began and stopped, her eyes not quite meeting his.