King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel

by Juliana Stone

  Azaiel leaned over her, his eyes fierce, his face slick with sweat and passion. She reached up, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him as if he were the very air she needed to live. And for that moment he was everything to her.

  Something vibrated then . . . in her jacket pocket. It was accompanied by a shrill ring. At first they both ignored it. They were too busy touching and tasting and tearing at each other. But the ringtone didn’t stop, and eventually the piercing key was enough to cut through the madness that had enveloped them both.

  She pushed him away, slightly disoriented. “What are we . . .”

  Azaiel swore, scooped her up, and moved them deeper into the shadows. He was breathing hard as he set Rowan away from him, and he turned, cursing roughly as he straightened his clothes.

  “Oh Azaiel.” She glanced up into dark eyes that regarded her fiercely. “What have we . . . what are we . . .” Her head was thick, as if it were full of cotton, and she shook it aggressively, wanting the song to end.

  Her breasts hung loose, her nipples hard and throbbing, the tender flesh aching. She jumped from the table, ashamed, as she buttoned her top, tucking the loose ends back into the waist of her jeans.

  I can’t look at him.

  The phone vibrated again. She licked her lips, her mouth bruised and swollen and she reached for her cell. Oh God, I had him in my mouth. Never had she ever acted in such a way with a man. Christ, she’d dated Mason for three whole months before she’d slept with him.

  She glanced down and ran her hands through the mess of hair at her nape. She bit her lip. “It’s Kellen.”

  “Did anyone ever tell that guy his timing sucks?” His voice was rough, his features harsh.

  She flinched. “It would have been better if he’d called fifteen minutes ago.” She exhaled and read the text, hating the way her stomach clenched as she read the words.

  “Has something happened?” Azaiel moved closer, and she wished he’d move the hell to the other side of the bar. Her body still thrummed and ached, and he smelled way too damn good.

  She glared at the stage. And still Alexis crooned.

  “I have to go and meet Kellen. Marie-Noelle is awake, and she wants both of her children.”

  “Both of her? Who . . .” He moved in front of her then, something new in his eyes. “You and Kellen are . . . siblings?”

  She looked up at him more than just a little irritated as she nodded. “Kellen is my brother, my twin. Who did you think he was?”

  Azaiel stared down at her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  Did she even hear his words? He looked like decadent, sinful, caramel-glazed chocolate. The throb between her legs burned, and she fought the urge to put her own hands there. Anything to alleviate the ache.

  Shame burned her cheeks a deep rose, and Rowan glanced away, not liking the intensity of his eyes. What was he thinking? She’d thrown herself at him earlier and now . . . what they’d done here in the shadows.

  She’d never lost control like that. Not even in her wild days. The last time she’d visited The Witches Brew had been ages ago. Back then, she’d come with her cousins Vicki and Hannah. To watch and titillate. But they’d always protected themselves with charms and had never participated.

  “We have to go.” She ran her tongue across her lips. “We should . . .” She glanced around, and when she turned to him, she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “We need to keep this to ourselves. Don’t tell anyone we were at The Witches Brew. If Vicki finds out, she’ll know . . . and I . . . I just . . .” She paused—tongue-tied and hating that he still stared at her in silence. “We need to forget this happened.”

  Just like that the reality of their situation smashed the sexual fantasy Alexis had unleashed in the both of them.

  “This . . . what we just did isn’t our fault. Not really. It’s Alexis. It’s what she does. We shouldn’t have come in here,” she finished lamely. “I tried to warn you.”

  He ran his hand through the thick blond hair atop his head, and Rowan tried not to think of what his hands had felt like. Of what he’d done to her this morning. Of what she’d done to him here, in this bar. In public.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, feeling slightly ill. She turned and pushed her way through the dense crowed, wanting only fresh air to clear her head.

  And to forget.

  “She’s waiting for you, Miss Rowan.” Cedric smiled though his sad dark eyes had lost some of their glimmer.

  “Thank you.” Rowan took a second, her hand lingering on Cedric’s forearm. “Are you feeling all right? Have you been resting?”

  He shrugged. “I’m feeling as good as I can right now.” He nodded toward her Nana’s rooms. “Go, on. You all need to say some things. Figure some stuff out.”

  She shook her head. “I know. It’s just sometimes the doing is harder than the figuring out.”

  He smiled and gripped her a little tighter. “You’ll be fine, Rowan. She is your blood.” His eyes misted. “She is Miss Cara’s baby girl, she’s just not as strong as you.” He squeezed her hand. “You remember that, now.”

  Rowan stared into his dark eyes for a few moments longer, then moved past him. She ignored Azaiel, the same way she’d ignored him the entire ride home. It was the only way she could function. The images . . . the sensations—they were too much. Too intense. Too wrong.

  The small tabby appeared from nowhere and jumped onto the counter near the Seraphim. Its little body shook from the ferocity of its purring, and it butted its small head on his hip. Behind him the clock glowed 2:30, and soon the others would be back.

  Her brother stood with arms crossed, a fierce look on his handsome face. She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  She moved toward Nana’s rooms, paused with her hand on the door, and pushed it open.

  Her mother glanced up from the bed, her fingers clutching the worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird to her chest. Beside her, standing guard, was the gargoyle. The huge creature looked fierce, and his size only made her mother appear that much more fragile.

  Rowan had pretty much had it with the kid-glove treatment. It was time for her mother to grow up, something that was way past due.

  “She loved this book.” Marie-Noelle’s voice was like sandpaper, rough and dry, and she spoke haltingly as if searching her mind for the right words. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I had so much to say to her.” Her mother glanced up. “I guess it’s too late for sorry, now.”

  Rowan moved closer. “It was too late years ago.”

  Her mother flinched at the harsh tone, but Rowan couldn’t help it. There were no warm fuzzies hiding in her heart. There was only anger, resentment, and the need for someone to pay. Kellen had asked her to be merciful. To forgive. She felt the weight of his gaze, but she couldn’t do what he wanted.

  There was too much pain.

  Marie-Noelle stood, her shoulders hunched, her small frame almost folded in on itself. She looked pathetic, and Rowan watched as Mikhail moved closer to her, his arm at the ready in case she needed assistance.

  Her mother waved him away and walked toward Rowan and Kellen, her steps little more than a shuffle. Her eyes were alive with a feverish glint that could have been her sanity leaving her or the effect of the drugs Cedric had given her to calm her nerves.

  Rowan was hoping for the drugs. “Do you know why you’re here?” Rowan asked.

  Marie-Noelle gazed at the two of them as if she hadn’t heard the question. “You’ve both grown so much.” Pain shadowed her face, and she looked much older than her years. “Oh God, I’ve missed so much.” Her voice broke. “I’d give anything to get it back.”

  “Mom, it’s okay. Take your time.” Kellen spoke gently, and Rowan just about pulled the pin.

  “Seriously, Kellen? She’s not a child, so stop treating her like one. I’m so sick of everyone walking on eggshells around her.” She glared at her mother. “This isn’t about you, and for the record, I don’t give a flying fuck about your guilt.”
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  “Ro!” Kellen admonished.

  She turned to her brother. “No, I’m done. I’m not playing this family-reunion game. This is bullshit. There are lives on the line.” She whirled back to her mother. “Lives that have been lost including the only mother I knew.”

  Rowan’s chest burned. Her limbs trembled, and the energy inside her body tripled. The floor shook, several large planks of oak split up the middle, and a series of family pictures on the wall crashed to the ground.

  Marie-Noelle flinched, and when Mikhail would have moved forward, Rowan’s hand shot out, and she stopped the gargoyle. “This is our business. Not yours.”

  Rowan’s anger filled her throat, and for a few seconds she couldn’t speak—could barely breathe.

  “I won’t let you hurt her,” Mikhail managed to get out.

  “I don’t need your permission to do anything,” she spit out. The darkness inside her pulsed with a heavy, hot hand, and she closed her eyes, struggling for control. The gargoyle growled and managed to put one foot forward, but Rowan’s hand shot up, and the creature was held in an invisible, iron grip.

  “Rowan, calm down,” Kellen said into her ear. He was at her side now, his hand on her shoulder, and she was aware that the door had opened. Azaiel now stood on her other side, and when he touched her hand, when that connection was made, she felt the darkness fade, and eventually she got a handle on her emotions.

  Azaiel grounded her.

  Sweat rolled down her back, her gut churned, and for one brutal second the hate that she’d denied was there. It filled her body like sand in an hourglass, and her mother flinched at what she saw.

  “Where is the grimoire?” Rowan exhaled and took a step forward.

  Marie-Noelle’s eyes widened, and fear crept into her face. “Rowan, you can’t . . . it’s much too dangerous.”

  Rowan laughed bitterly. “I’ll decide what’s dangerous. Getting our asses kicked every night by a bunch of demons is dangerous. Walking across the bloody street is dangerous.” Rowan moved until she was inches from her mother. Until she could see the tiny veins in her eyes and the wrinkles that creased the corners. “I’d rather face a thousand Mallicks and go down fighting than to give up and become his bitch. You got that? I will steer my own ship, Mother, and it will either find safe passage, or I’ll take him down with me. This has to end.” Rowan closed her eyes. “It will end on Samhain.”

  Silence wrapped them all in a hot cocoon, and for several moments no one spoke. Marie-Noelle’s body trembled, her fingers clutched the book tightly in her grasp, and her eyes never left her children.

  “Mom, do you know where the grimoire is?” Kellen asked gently as he moved forward. “Ro, needs it.” He glanced back at Rowan. “We all need it or Nana’s death means nothing. I know you’re scared, but we’ve pretty much reached the end of the road.” He touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm. “Don’t you think?”

  Marie-Noelle shuddered and exhaled. She nodded, her eyes lowered. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  “Never meant doesn’t mean anything once it’s happened,” Rowan retorted.

  Marie-Noelle nodded, defeat in her voice. “You’re right.” Her eyes cleared, and she gazed at Rowan. “You’re right about all of it, and if you need to drive that point home over and over again, I won’t say anything.”

  “There’s nothing you can say.”

  Marie-Noelle sighed. “He was just so . . . charming.”

  “Who?” Kellen prodded.

  Rowan stepped forward, but Azaiel’s large hand swallowed her smaller one whole, and she froze. “Give him a chance,” Azaiel whispered.

  Marie-Noelle closed her eyes. “He was beautiful and dangerous and the sun was in his hair and he reminded me of someone.”

  “Where did you meet him?” Kellen asked.

  “I don’t remember. The forest? A bar in town?”

  Rowan’s stomach lurched, and her fingers dug into Azaiel’s palm. Oh God, do I want to hear this?

  “I just remember I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, he was there.”

  “A name would be nice. Who?” Rowan yanked her hand from Azaiel and pushed past Kellen. “Who the hell did you give our grimoire to?”

  “Move away from her,” Mikhail growled.

  Rowan flicked her wrist, and the gargoyle was tossed into the wall as if he were a rag doll. His anger was fast and furious. Mikhail opened his mouth but was held silent by Rowan.

  Her mother’s eyes hardened. A ripple of energy surrounded her as she glared at her daughter. “You will show him respect, Rowan.”

  “Like you showed us?” she retorted.

  Marie-Noelle stared up into her daughter’s face. “When did you become so cold? So hard?”

  “This isn’t my intervention . . . it’s yours. I don’t care enough about you to have a heart-to-heart and relive the fabulous childhood we both know never happened. I care about the grimoire, and that’s it. So tell me who has it or . . .”

  “Or you’ll hurt me like you did the last time?” Marie-Noelle’s voice was stronger.

  Rowan sensed a fight, and she smiled though her eyes remained hard, jeweled stones. “I promised Kellen I wouldn’t do that to you.” She rotated her wrist, and Mikhail bellowed, obviously in agony. “It doesn’t mean I won’t hurt your little boy toy.”

  “Stop this Rowan.” Marie-Noelle nodded toward the gargoyle. “Now.”

  “Rowan!” Kellen shouted.

  She whirled around, a sob escaping as she felt something inside her break. Her body felt weird. Hot and cold at the same time, but the power inside was something to behold. “Back off.” She growled the warning.

  Mikhail was released, and he fell to the floor, taking the bed table with him. The crash reverberated in the room, but no one paid attention. All eyes were focused on Rowan and her mother.

  “Where is it?”

  “I sold it to a demon.”

  “A demon.” Rowan was incredulous. “That’s just”—she threw her hands into the air, and the large watercolor beside the fireplace fell to the floor—“wonderful.” She arched a brow. “This demon have a name?”

  Marie-Noelle faced her daughter, head held high. “Seth,” she said softly.

  “Seth,” Rowan repeated. “Seth have an address? ’Cause we could really use one right about now.”

  Marie-Noelle’s eyes narrowed. “Your tongue is sharp. Reminds me of—”

  “Father?” Rowan asked silkily.

  The two women stared at each other in silence, then Azaiel stepped forward. “Did this Seth have Lucifer’s mark on the side of his neck?”

  “I don’t . . .” Marie-Noelle’s brow furled.

  “Think, Mother,” Rowan ground out. “It’s the least you can do.”

  “Jesus, Ro. Take a seat,” Kellen snarled.

  Rowan ignored her brother, but she was aware that his hands were fisted, and he was itching to fight just as much as she was. They just had different targets in mind.

  Marie-Noelle nodded slowly. “Yes, he had the mark under his left ear.”

  Rowan saw something flicker in her mother’s eyes and didn’t like the way Azaiel’s mouth tensed.

  “Do you know him?” Rowan turned to Azaiel.

  The Seraphim nodded, his dark eyes somber, his mouth set tight. Rowan could tell by the look on his face that this Seth person wasn’t your average everyday demon next door.

  “It’s not good, is it?” she said quietly, the fight in her suddenly gone. She was so tired.

  “No.” Azaiel glanced at Kellen. “It’s not good.”

  “Where do we find this bastard?” Kellen asked.

  “District One,” Azaiel answered carefully.

  “And that would be where?” Kellen asked.

  “That would be a long way from here.”

  “An exact location would be good,” Kellen retorted testily.

  Rowan held her breath as Azaiel cocked his head to the side. “The exact location would be Hell.”


  “Wow,” Rowan murmured, as her gaze swept the room. She fought the urge to laugh because she wanted to cry at the same time. “Nice. What do we do now?”

  Azaiel stared down at her, his dark eyes glittering as small ribbons of gold bled through the black. “I’ll look after this.” He nodded toward Marie-Noelle and turned toward the door.

  “Azaiel, wait! Where are you going?” Rowan grabbed his arm.

  “I’ll get the grimoire.”

  “But it’s . . .” Rowan blew out a hot breath. “In Hell.”

  Azaiel glanced down at her, and she carefully let go of his arm. There was a hard glint in his eye—a cold wash of winter that made her shudder. “Yeah.”

  He turned and left her with a fractured, broken family and a big-ass gargoyle whose brilliant yellow eyes shot bullets her way. Rowan shook her head and sighed.

  You couldn’t make this shit up.

  Chapter 21

  It was a cold wind that whipped along the ground, churning dead bits of leaves and yanking on the wind chimes that hung from Terre’s RV. Azaiel pulled the collar of his leather jacket up to his ears and peered into the gloom as a set of lights cut through the night.

  It was nearly four in the morning. He’d just gotten off the phone with Cale, and the news wasn’t good. Cale had managed to dig up rumors that the unclaimed James witch was the most powerful woman born into the coven—if not the most powerful witch in the human realm. It was rumored her purported father was neither human nor otherworld but something else entirely—fae. Dark fae.

  Cale hadn’t needed to reiterate the fact that Mallick could never be allowed to claim Rowan as his. With that kind of magick at his fingertips the dark lord’s power would more than double. And that was a modest assumption. Mallick would have the ability to sway the pendulum between the realms any way he wanted, and that was something the League could never let happen.

  The balance must always be protected.

  Azaiel watched the large Suburban park near the gift shop and frowned. He’d learned long ago that whispers of truth lived amongst rumors, and he had no doubt that Rowan’s blood father was fae. It explained too much—the fae that had been spotted in Salem. The undeniable power that Rowan harnessed. It even explained his reaction to her touch. Fae energy was unlike any other. It was seductive. Bold.