The Azar Omnibus: The Complete Azar Trilogy (The Azar Trilogy Book 0)

by Grace McGinty

  The rest of her siblings had been raised in her father’s home territory in Turkey. Unlike most Councilors who usually had a residence in most territories, Saraf had only kept the two households, preferring to fly in and out, eager to return to his home.

  Directly next to her left hand, there were six deep short gouges, and Azar lined up her hand so the holes were between her fingers. Yep, this had definitely been the boys playing five-finger-filet with their butter knives. She let out a small laugh. They would have been terrors.

  She turned toward Bast’s presence in the room. She could find him like divining rod, despite him being invisible.

  “Who knows what Danu meant? But she told me that Mira was important, that she had a magical sleeping sickness, and boom! She was awake.”

  She didn’t want to tell him about being the conduit or the weird pleasure/pain. She’d keep that to herself for now.

  She’d called Killian on her way to the brownstone, and he was coming over for dinner so she could fill him in on her negotiations with the Unbound. Vincent’s ultimatum was a difficult one, but she thought that if she could get Killian on their side, they’d have a better chance of selling it to the rest of them. Two thousand years of archaic principles weren’t easily going to be argued away.

  Azar wanted nothing more than to go home to her little band of misfits.

  “I need a nap,” she stood to walk to the sink and rinse her plate. She was at her limit, emotionally and physically.

  Taking the elevator down to the ground floor, she and Bast stepped out into her father’s library. She was comforted by the wall-to-ceiling books. Although she’d never considered herself much of a reader, there was something embracing about being surrounded by a multitude of leather spines. A fireplace sat empty on one wall. A huge desk was pushed under a window, and she could picture her father there, working hard so that he could return to his desert home. Ashtoreth had flown back with his ashes yesterday. Now her father would forever be in the land that he loved.

  She eased down onto the large chesterfield couch, and closed her eyes.

  “Night, Bast. I love you,” she whispered into the emptiness of the room.

  See you in your dreams, Jaanaman.

  Chapter 8

  At six, everyone started pouring into the brownstone. Keeley had ordered in Italian, and Azar had been able to hear the owner’s angry shouting about an order so large with so little notice from clear across the room. After much cajoling on Keeley’s behalf, the man had promised it would be there in an hour and a half, at the latest.

  Casper and his wife, Renelle were the first home, and they hugged and kissed Azar as if they hadn’t seen her in a year. Casper was definitely more in touch with his feelings than his brothers, who came in about ten minutes later. Cy kissed Azar’s cheek, and Darius thumped her on the back affectionately. She hadn’t had much to do with Darius, having only met him briefly before their father’s funeral. She knew he was the oldest of the three brothers, and an Adel soldier in South America, on the same force as Cy.

  Roxx emerged from the depths of the house somewhere, and several minutes later Yasmin appeared. She didn’t look a lot like her brother, except her fine bones. She had high cheekbones, and the family nose, but she had brilliant green eyes that sparkled in her face like the emeralds she was so famous for setting. She quietly reintroduced herself, before going to sit next to her brother. She was a tiny birdlike woman in a family full of giants.

  The two women that Azar simply referred to as “The Mothers” arrived in a flurry of activity, apparently having accosted the Italian delivery boy at the door. They came in carrying boxes of food, and the smell of garlic, roasted tomatoes and freshly baked bread wafted in with them. Azar’s mouth watered, and she sat down next to Cy. The place next to her was deferentially left for Bast.

  Killian arrived after all the food had been transferred to platters and the plates had been laid out. He’d shrugged out of his jacket at some point, and the sleeves of his black button-down shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

  He looked at the empty place at the head of the table but decided to take the space next to his sister instead, leaving the head of the table empty. The silence in the room was thick with unspent grief. But then, like the godsend she was, Mira rocked in, looking as calm and collected as she did every other day of the week.

  There was a flurry of greetings. Even Darius wrapped her in a warm hug. The tiny Marid was well loved by this family. She sat down opposite Killian at the end of the table, and food was passed around.

  “How’s your Fae Prince?” Cy asked around a mouth full of garlic ciabatta. Azar could see his mother cringing from across the table.

  “Which one? In my life you have to be more specific.”

  Cy boomed out a laugh. “The Princeling. I know how your Black Prince is, I saw him today.”

  “Oh?”

  “With your Green Man.”

  Hmmph. Neither of the Fae are Azar’s.

  Azar may have been hallucinating from lack of lasagna, but Bast sounded a little jealous. She laughed it off, and hoped that no one probed into that line of thought anymore.

  No need to get all huffy. I love you to the very depths of my soul, she told Bast. She infused the words with all the love she felt for him.

  I am not ‘huffy’, Jaanaman. I am not threatened by the Fae. Now she’d injured his silly male pride. She sighed, and spooned some bruschetta onto her ciabatta. She was just going to eat more and talk less. She purposefully did not think about Oliver’s offer when they were swimming. She loved Bast, she’d never make him choose like that.

  “Nevyn is fine. We are thinking about moving in with the Weres. Safety in numbers you know.”

  “Why don’t you move in here?” Cy suggested, taking a sip of his beer.

  Forks stilled around the table and everyone looked in Cy’s direction, but pointedly avoided meeting her eye.

  It was one thing that she’d invited herself to dinner, but it was an entirely different proposal to move herself and two dozen of the enemy into the family home. The wound of Saraf’s death was still a raw, weeping thing and although they might consciously realize that Lorcan and his guards, Jack, and even Nevyn were friends, subconsciously their fear extended to all the Fae. Luckily, they didn’t know she had a touch of the Tuatha in her blood too.

  “Thanks, Cy. You are a great friend and a good brother, but I don’t think we would all fit in this place, no matter how many levels it seems to have. Can you pass the Chianti?”

  Cy gave her a half grin and poured wine into her glass.

  He dropped his voice. “You have just as much right to be here too, no matter what this lot say. Now Father is gone, this place belongs to all his children equally,” he whispered so only she could hear.

  Azar smiled and squeezed his arm, blinking back the moisture that threatened to gather in her eyes. “Thanks. But I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable. Besides, it’s true, we wouldn’t all fit.”

  “Yeah, you seem to collect strays like the pound. But I worry about you, out there in the wilds by yourself. I know you have Bast, as well as the Shaitan, for all that’s worth. You need someone you can trust to watch your back.”

  The subtle racism in his comment raised her hackles, but centuries of persecution had definitely cemented the Shaitan’s reputation. Still, Donovan was her friend. “The Shaitan aren’t all bad, just like the Ifrit aren’t all bad. I trust Donovan with my back, and my life. He may be cold, but he isn’t heartless.” She shrugged. “I’m not out there alone. For better or for worse, I am surrounded by people who are prepared to fight beside me. But thank you. Your offer means more to me than you can know.” She only hoped he sensed her sincerity. She hadn’t had family for long enough to throw their kindness back in their faces.

  Cy just nodded. “Alright then.”

  The conversation moved on, Darius ribbing Cy about Vivian, another Adel soldier and Cy’s current love interest. Cy just rolled his eyes and
punched Darius hard in the shoulder. Azar winced when she heard the thud. Darius retaliated by slyly punching Cy under the table, corking his thigh. Cy grunted, drawing the gaze of his mother, Siobhan.

  Both men sat up straighter and schooled their features under their mother’s stern eye, eating and chatting away like well-behaved adults.

  Azar shook her head. Apparently, boys will be boys even after several centuries.

  The atmosphere was so friendly, so relaxed, that she could temporarily forget her troubles, or the fact that she was an outsider. Laughter echoed off the walls. This group of people knew love, and they loved well. No one could take that from them, not the Fae, and not grief.

  The Chianti was drunk, the food was devoured with relish, and Roxx was entertaining the room with a story about how he’d gotten himself locked inside a safe belonging to a powerful Alpha in Bulgaria.

  Killian caught her eye and pointed to the elevator. Dammit, she really wanted to know how Roxx got out of the safe. She excused herself politely, though everyone was wrapped up in the story and paid her no mind. She placed her dishes on the sink and then stood in the elevator with Killian.

  It whirred to life and shuddered downwards.

  “Sorry to drag you away from Roxx’s story. Do you want to know how it ends?”

  She nodded, though she doubted Killian would tell it with quite the same lyricalness as Roxx; Killian was a man of few words.

  “The Alpha’s mate goes to put away her earrings in the safe, and Roxx convinces her that he is there for her. He seduces her, takes her to bed and sneaks out while she’s sleeping, her earrings and a few other gems stuffed in his pockets. It took all my influence to prevent Sashko, the Alpha, from tracking him down and eating his entrails. To this day, I don’t think Roxx has been back to Bulgaria.”

  Azar shook her head. She wondered how many times Killian had stepped in to help Roxx, who was undeniably the black sheep of the family, but if what she’d seen at dinner was a true representation, a beloved black sheep.

  “You’re a good person,” she said instead.

  The corner of his lip quirked. “So are you. It must run in the family.”

  He opened the cage door, and it scraped. The old cage elevator had to be nearly eighty years old. The groaning noises it made were starting to freak her out. She’d decided to take the stairs from then on.

  Killian walked toward the library, and tossed a fireball onto the logs that rested in the fireplace. Walking to her father’s big desk, he leaned against its embossed leather top rather than in the expensive wingback chair.

  She sat down on the chesterfield she’d had napped on earlier. She and the chesterfield were developing quite the relationship.

  “You’ve had an eventful day; a secret meeting, a miracle healing and a family dinner.”

  “Oh my,” she said laughingly. She’d prefer the lions and tigers and bears in Oz. “What I’d give to have a boring day once and awhile. Do my washing, watch Dr. Phil in my pajamas, you know what I mean?”

  Killian raised an eyebrow. Hmm, perhaps not. He poured them drinks from little square bar that sat on one corner of the desk. Scotch, she hoped.

  She cleared her throat. “I spoke to Vincent, the Djinn in charge of the sanctuary, but not really the Unbound. They aren’t gathering an army out there. It’s more if a halfway house. They teach them to blend in with the humans and protect themselves from, well, us. But Vincent says that he could probably raise an army of a few thousand, trained in hand to hand combat. For a price.”

  Killian sighed, and for an instant, she could see the weight of the world resting on his shoulders like an iron mantle. “How much?”

  “They want a place on the new Council.”

  Killian drew back as if she had struck him. Was it really that unbelievable? What did he think their price was going to be, a million dollars and a pat on the back?

  “He also wants the system of enforced servitude abolished.” She took advantage of Killian’s momentary shock to pounce. “We have an opportunity here, a way for there to be a silver lining to this tragedy. We have the opportunity to right the wrongs of the old system. We no longer need to rely on the revenue raised by servitude to fund Djinn society. There is enough wealth in the world for the Djinn to live comfortably, hell luxuriously, without anyone needing to sell their body to obtain it. The system is outdated and unjust. It needs to go, and something better put in its place.”

  Killian pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes. She felt guilty about adding to his burden, and then she thought about Vincent’s story of the Council murdering that baby in cold blood. She was sorry for putting Killian in a tough position, but she couldn’t let this opportunity pass her by. They listened to the fire spit and crackle, the room lit only by the small banker’s lamp on the desk and firelight. It was peaceful.

  “Okay.”

  She squinted, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

  “I said okay. You are right. Something good should come out of this clusterfuck. We are lucky, because as Commander-in-Chief, I have a fair amount of sway. But we still have to convince the elders of the races. They aren’t Councilors yet, but more than likely, some of them will be. We are a race that is bound by our honor, so I hope that if we can get them to see we need the help of the Unbound, they will acquiesce to their demands now, and ratify them when we are victorious.”

  She only understood ninety-five percent of the words in his speech, but it sounded promising.

  He continued. “We’ll lead with the promise of an army, and I am fairly sure the most pragmatic of the group will agree. We will likely get some resistance from the Ghul, and perhaps the Sila. But the Sila are keen negotiators, and they will see the wisdom of the agreement eventually, despite it going against every convention we have.”

  “Then we get them to put forth their Council members then and there, so they will be bound by their word. This is wartime. We can’t be without a Council at a time such as this,” she added.

  Killian gave her an amused smile.

  “Political deviousness. That definitely runs in the family.”

  She held up her tumbler, the fire making the golden liquid inside shine like gem. “To a new world order,” she toasted.

  “To ensuring there is a world to make anew,” he added, and the clink of glass was the only thing that could be heard over the crackle of the wood fire.

  Azar wasn’t surprised that when she closed her eyes in bed that night, Bast was there.

  He had the ability to visit her dreams, to create an oasis in her mind. Her ideal world, the perfect place to retreat from the harshness of reality.

  Her oasis was always the same; they were in her homeland, on the green grass around a small watering hole in the desert. To the left would be a large white pavilion tent, its interior lushly decorated with silks. The breeze would be a light zephyr that would whisper through the leaves of the huge palms that dotted around the banks of the water. And always, always, Bast was there, waiting for her.

  “You look so beautiful,” he whispered, and Azar looked down to see she was dressed in a gauzy white dress that caught the wind, and swept away from her like a white train. It seemed distinctly see through as well. She wasn’t convinced she had complete control over her oasis.

  He was standing there without a shirt, just black linen pants that hung on his hips. His skin was so golden, it shimmered in the sun. Even the scars, a testament to battles that had been fought with paranormal foe, were just an accompaniment to his beauty.

  Sadness overwhelmed her. She missed holding him so much.

  He took her in his arms, smoothing her hair with his hand. He felt good, even though she knew he wasn’t real.

  She pulled away and looked up into his deep golden eyes. She’d often scoffed when poets and pop singers wrote about drowning in someone’s eyes, but she’d understood after she’d met Bast. They drew her in, and she could get lost in each deep, golden starburst.

 
She put her hands on his cheeks, and pulled his lips to hers. She kissed him fiercely, stamping him with every ounce of her love. His hands slid down to her ass and he lifted her up into his body. She obligingly wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him so tightly that she was sure they would meld into one. He dropped to his knees on the grass and laid her down. They’d made love so many times on this grass. It was the grass of fantasies, soft and fragrant. Grass made for lovemaking.

  His hands roamed her body, memorizing their curves, and she nipped at his neck, drawing the scent of him deep into her lungs. She needed this, needed him.

  “Please, Bast.”

  Normally they would play, draw it out until they were both a sweating jumble of flesh. But today, he sensed her desperation, magically disappearing their clothes until there was nothing between them but the warm summer breeze.

  Sliding down between her thighs, he nipped the soft flesh that bracketed his head. She moaned deeply, tangling her fingers in his golden hair. When his tongue ran through her folds in one long motion, she squirmed. When he swirled his tongue around her clit, her thighs tensed around his cheeks. When he nipped the sensitive nub, she screamed. His tongue was like a whirlwind, and she was desperate for more. For everything. She ground her body against his face, and he held her still with one huge hand on her hip.

  “Bast!” Her voice was a wild, desperate sound in the oasis.

  He dragged his lips slowly up her body, as if he was worshipping every single inch of her skin until they were nose to nose. He cupped her cheek, and stared into her soul. There were so many words in his eyes, and she knew every single sentence began and ended with ‘I love you’.

  As he slid himself home between her thighs, she buried her face in his throat and whispered his name on each breath. They fit together perfectly, despite their imperfections.

  He moved faster and harder, driving himself deeper, and soon her whispers became moans, and her moans became shouts.

  They found a primal rhythm, and too soon, she could feel the pleasure knot inside her, before it unraveled and sent her spiraling into orgasm. Bast rode the waves of her release before finding his own, his guttural groan music to her ears. He collapsed in a satiated heap along her body, scattering tiny kisses across her temple and whispering endearments in Persian that she didn’t understand but still made her chest swell.