King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel

by Juliana Stone

  Priest exited the SUV, followed by Hannah and Nico. They didn’t see Azaiel at first, and he was surprised at the light banter between the shifter and the witch. She’d somehow managed to thaw the perpetual bad mood the jaguar usually sported.

  He stepped down from the porch, and Priest stopped midstride. Nico and Hannah followed suit, and for several seconds, the three of them stared up at Azaiel.

  “We need to talk,” Azaiel said quietly. Not here. He didn’t have to speak the words. They were all aware of the eyes and ears that listened from the shadows. There were witches everywhere.

  Priest nodded and turned, signaling for Nico to follow. Hannah would have as well, but at Azaiel’s curt look she remained behind. “It’s not nice to keep secrets you know,” she mumbled.

  The three men walked in silence for nearly five minutes until they’d cleared the James property line and were well down the country road. Out there, beyond the protection ward, the otherworld chatter that littered the wind was much more audible.

  “What did you find out?” Priest ran a new cigar beneath his nose, offered one to Azaiel, and lit the end of his when Azaiel refused it.

  “Cale and I are fairly certain that Rowan’s father is Dark fae.”

  Nico shook his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and muttered, “Not good.”

  Priest blew a perfect circle of smoke and nodded in agreement. “Do we know who?”

  “No.”

  “This changes nothing. We knew she was different from the others. Our mandate stands. She will die before we allow Mallick to take her.”

  Heat burned inside Azaiel’s chest, and he thrust his shoulders back, widening his stance and glaring at Priest. “That is a last resort only.”

  Priest nodded. “I agree. But you need to know I won’t hesitate to make it so.”

  Azaiel’s voice dropped. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

  “No.” Priest shook his head. “I’m questioning your feelings. I see the way you look at her, which brings to mind another point.”

  Azaiel didn’t like where the conversation was headed. Didn’t like that the Templar was hitting way too close to home. “And that would be,” he bit out.

  “You can’t have her either,” Nico butted in, his eyes hard, his mouth tight.

  Azaiel turned to the shifter and took a step forward, his hands fisted, his anger instant. Priest stepped between them, cigar stuck between his teeth and his hands held up. “Come on, boys, let’s keep this civil, shall we?”

  Azaiel glared at the shifter. “Unless you know what you’re talking about, I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

  Nico smiled, a cold, calculating lift of his mouth. “You won’t be able to lie to yourself much longer, Seraphim. Know this. I didn’t sacrifice my life to let someone like you fuck everything up. When the time comes, if you can’t take care of the witch, I will.”

  Azaiel stepped forward, but Priest’s strong arms kept him from the jaguar.

  “I’m done here,” Nico spat, his dislike for Azaiel obvious. He turned and walked away, while thick tendrils of mist twirled around his legs and crept along his body. Sparks flew from within as he disappeared, and seconds later the unmistakable bark of a big cat drifted back toward them as the remaining fingers of night claimed Nico.

  “You need to relax.” Priest shoved Azaiel backward. “He won’t stop pushing you. He can’t let the past go.”

  “And you think I can?” Azaiel said bitterly.

  “No. But you are Seraphim, Azaiel, and you fell away from all of us. You’re going to have to work twice as hard as any to regain the trust that you treated so callously all those eons ago.”

  Azaiel turned from Priest, exhaling loudly as his gaze caught the faintest hint of light along the ridge of night sky. “Rowan needs her family grimoire in order to perform some kind of spell that will destroy Mallick.”

  “He’s one of Lucifer’s. He’s protected. What power does this grimoire possess that will trump that?”

  Azaiel shook his head. “I don’t know. This witch magick is not something I’m all that familiar with.”

  “Normally someone of Mallick’s stature would be protected even by the League, but he’s grown much too powerful by means that are not within his parameters. I have no problem ordering his execution.”

  “Thanks but I wasn’t looking for your approval.” Azaiel rolled his shoulders. “The demon lord will die. The only question is how and who will do the killing.”

  Priest remained silent for a few moments. “So where is this grimoire? I’m assuming this has something to do with Rowan’s mother?”

  Azaiel nodded. “She sold the grimoire to Seth . . . Seth the golden.”

  Priest looked startled. “Seth from District One? The collector?”

  “That would be the one,” he bit out.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a bone to pick with Seth the golden.”

  “He acquired me from District Three and was my jailer for more time than I care to remember.”

  The Knight Templar digested that bit of information. “Well this makes things a whole lot more interesting. How the hell are you proposing to get the grimoire from Seth? His security must be impressive.”

  “I managed to escape.”

  “True, but I’ve my doubts you’ll be able to simply walk into his compound and take what you want. What’s your plan?”

  Azaiel’s mouth tightened. “I thought I’d ask nicely.”

  Priest arched a brow.

  “And if he isn’t accommodating, I thought I’d kick his ass.”

  “Sounds like an ass kicking is pretty much the only outcome.” Priest slapped him on the back, a gesture Azaiel didn’t appreciate. “I just think it’s going to be your ass and not his.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Azaiel ground out.

  “You need help? I don’t mind taking a trip below.”

  “No. I’ve got that covered though I do need to find the closest portal.”

  Priest was silent for a moment. “Samael will know. I’ll call him.”

  “Okay.” Azaiel nodded. “If you could make sure my little witch doesn’t get herself into trouble while I’m gone, that would be good.”

  “Your little witch?” Rowan’s voice slid between them, and both men were silenced as she appeared from the gloom. At Azaiel’s dark look she shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You shouldn’t be wandering out here alone,” Azaiel said sharply.

  “I’m not alone.” She smiled. “I’m with you.”

  “I’ve got to make a few phone calls.” Priest nodded. “See you back at the house.”

  Azaiel ran his hands across the stubble on his jaw and stared down at Rowan. Nico’s words echoed in his brain, and he clenched his teeth.

  The damn shifter was right. He wanted her. God help him, he wanted her in ways that were wrong. But he was the Fallen. He didn’t deserve someone as righteous and true as Rowan.

  What the hell am I going to do about her? He needed to keep his perspective, or there was a very real chance he’d fuck things up.

  Again.

  Azaiel could not afford to let emotion rule his actions. He’d done that once and been burned badly.

  “You’re looking pretty grim.” Her words were light, but he wasn’t fooled.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “It?”

  “Yeah . . . it, treading into asshole territory.”

  Azaiel watched as she took a deep breath and shivered. Warm mist flew from her nostrils, small clouds that dissipated in the early-morning cold.

  “And we both know it’s all an act.”

  “Rowan, go home and try to get some sleep. Let me deal with the grimoire.”

  “You shouldn’t get to have all the fun. Take me with you.”

  Azaiel’s scowl deepened. “Absolutely not.”

  “But it’s my grimoire. My mess. My responsibility.”
<
br />   “Are you out of your mind?” His voice was low and rough. “Mallick, the very demon lord who hunts you, resides down there.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, his mark is blind.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. There was no reasoning with the witch. Rowan James had an answer for everything. She shivered again, this time violently, which wasn’t surprising as she wore nothing but a thin T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Swearing beneath his breath, Azaiel shrugged out of his leather jacket and placed it around her shoulders. It was much too big, but the sight of her drowning in his coat tore away another chunk of ice from inside him. From inside his heart.

  She was dangerous, this woman, and if he let her, she’d unthaw the whole damn thing. And where would that leave him?

  Totally fucking screwed.

  He decided to try a different tactic. He smiled down at her as if things were just peachy; though from the wary look in her eyes, she wasn’t buying it. “We should head back to the house. It will be daylight soon.”

  “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

  He motioned Rowan forward and fell into step beside her, matching his long strides to her smaller ones. “What exactly am I doing?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject, and like I said, it won’t work.”

  “Really,” he answered dryly.

  She stopped suddenly and glared at him. “Yes, really.”

  She pushed him in the chest, and he felt the burn of magick against his skin. It stung, yet did nothing but inflame his senses. Her chin jutted out, and that delectable mouth was so close he only had to bend slightly to claim it.

  “If I want to go with you, I will. End of story.”

  Anger sparked inside him, flushing him with heat. Azaiel had had enough. Maybe it was the way the light reflected in her eye, emphasizing her attitude. Maybe it was the fact that he was tired as hell. Maybe his fuse was running short, and it was time to blow.

  Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss her or dismiss her.

  He grabbed Rowan’s arm and yanked her against him, effectively pinning her to his chest. The little minx started to struggle, and even though his brothers had pretty much castrated most of his powers, his strength was still considerable, and with her hands pinned to her sides, she couldn’t spell or charm.

  When she finally tired and went limp he whispered near her ear. “This isn’t a game. This is life and death, and in case you aren’t paying attention, let me reiterate. It’s your head on the chopping block, understand? There is no way I’ll risk your life because you want to play the hero. And—”

  “Wrong.”

  “What?”

  Rowan wriggled her ass against him, and his groin tightened even more. Disgusted he pushed her away.

  “I’m a woman, Azaiel,” she began cheekily. “So, I’d be the heroine not the . . .” Her voice trailed off as her gaze dropped to the obvious bulge between his legs.

  He glared at her, pissed off that she was able to get such a reaction from him without even trying.

  “Details,” he ground out. “Yet the only detail you need to focus on is the fact that you are not going anywhere near District One.”

  She cleared her throat before dragging her eyes back to his, her face flushed, eyes overly bright. “All right. I won’t go, but I warn you, Azaiel, if you don’t come back, if you fail to get the grimoire for me, I will hunt you down, and trust me, Mallick will be the least of your worries.”

  She started off toward the house, and he smiled at the haughty set to her shoulders. “I don’t doubt that,” he called after her.

  “I’m not fooling around.”

  “Noted.”

  They reached the edge of her driveway a few moments later, and she paused though she never looked back his way. “Just make sure you come back, all right?”

  Azaiel didn’t say a word as she slipped between the shadows and disappeared from sight.

  “Who’s your Robin?” Priest cut into his thoughts.

  At Azaiel’s confused look Priest grinned. “Batman and Robin? Superman and . . . come to think of it, Superman never had a Robin.”

  Azaiel shook the cold from himself. “I have no idea what that means. Kellen will accompany me.”

  Priest considered that and slowly shook his head. “He’s strong and seems focused, but he’s an unknown.”

  “Why does Rowan have the magick of her family, and Kellen seems to have nothing?”

  Priest shrugged. “Magick is discriminate. The James witches only have female children, and therefore their magick is passed from mother to daughter with the firstborn line amped up considerably, which is why Rowan is so much stronger than her cousins. As far as I know, Kellen is the first male born into this family. I’d say the fact that they’re twins has something to do with it.”

  Azaiel took a moment. “I find it hard to believe that as the product of both witch and fae, he’s not been blessed with something extraordinary.”

  “I agree. But he might be more closely aligned with the fae side of his heritage. They mature at a much slower rate, mainly because they’re immortal. But judging by the kind of mojo Rowan’s packing, when, or rather, if he matures—Kellen James will be a formidable entity. Are you sure you can trust him?”

  “I’m not sure about anything, but it’s no matter. What’s done is done, and Rowan’s brother will accompany me.”

  An hour later Priest dropped Azaiel and Kellen in Salem at the back of a small restaurant, something called The Greasy Spoon North. It’s where Samael had agreed to meet. Apparently there were several scattered across the country, and their specialty, besides the popular all-day-heart-attack-on-a-plate breakfast, was something called poutine. Azaiel had never heard of it before, but the thought of cheese curds and gravy smothered over fried potatoes nearly turned his stomach.

  The place was open twenty-four hours and though it was barely past five in the morning, The Greasy Spoon North appeared full. Azaiel and Kellen walked in and immediately felt the weight of many eyes.

  It was an eclectic gathering of hungry souls. Some of the patrons had been out all night partying—it was Sunday after all—and church was definitely not on the menu. The lull in conversation started up after a few seconds, and Azaiel relaxed somewhat. While there were a good number of elderly folk—those used to early-morning hours, bacon, eggs, and coffee—there was one in the back who didn’t belong.

  He sat in the corner, facing the door, and though the place was lit up like a thousand-watt Christmas tree, shadows clung to him, making it hard for the average person to see him clearly. Azaiel had no such problem.

  A large pair of aviators hid eyes not meant for humans to see while broad shoulders bore leather easily, and denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him as if he had all the time in the world.

  Samael.

  “Kellen James.” They turned as a slender woman with badly dyed magenta hair hacked to an inch past her ears walked toward them, dirty dishes and a menu in her hands. Her heavy, dark makeup hid what looked to be an attractive face, and the smile on her lips was genuine. “My God, it’s been ages. Where have you been hiding?”

  “Hey, ah . . .”

  “Kristina.” The girl’s tone was a tad sharper, her smile not quite so bright.

  “Right, Kristina. It’s been a while. I’ve been in Boston.”

  “Boston? That’s right, I think Hannah told me that last time I asked. You’re attending Harvard, right?”

  “I was.” Kellen’s reply was curt. “I’m . . . not anymore.”

  “Oh.” His tone made it obvious the subject was closed. “I heard that Rowan is back, too? What’s going on? Family reunion?” She laughed and smiled widely. “You’ll have to tell Miss Cara that we’re looking forward to sampling her pies and chili at the fair next weekend.”

  Kellen nodded but didn’t answer.

  Kristina turned her attention to Azaiel. “Who’s your friend?” She smiled at Azaie
l. “You sure as hell aren’t from Salem. Heck we could surely use some more men like you around here, that’s for sure.”

  Azaiel remained silent. Why did females talk so much?

  “You guys want a table? We’re a little full, what with it being so close to Halloween, but there’s room at the back.”

  Azaiel shook his head. “We’re good,” and pushed past the small woman. Samael was on his feet, his tall, muscular frame unfolding from the table in one smooth motion.

  “Figures you’re here to see him. Just so you know, he’s got a nasty temper.”

  Azaiel and Kellen ignored the warning and followed Samael down a narrow hallway that led past the restrooms and to the back exit.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Kristina’s voice followed them outside.

  Samael kicked the door open, and the three of them strode into the still-dark alley. A drunk sleeping it off in the corner near the large waste bin was ignored, as were the rats scurrying about.

  The demon of chaos turned and flashed a smile that Azaiel knew didn’t reach his eyes. The bastard hated him as much as everyone else, but for whatever reason, his vow to Askelon was solid, and Azaiel knew he could be trusted.

  “Cale filled me in. You’re looking for a way down?”

  Azaiel nodded.

  Samael turned to Kellen. “You’re the witch’s brother?”

  “That would be me. And you are?”

  “Not interested in sharing names.”

  Kellen folded his arms across his chest and glanced toward Azaiel. “Buddy, the guys you hang with aren’t exactly friendly.”

  “No,” Azaiel murmured. “They’re not.”

  “This one seems more of an asshole than the damn jaguar shifter.”

  Samael arched an insolent brow. “I’m sure Nico would agree.” He tossed a small vial to Kellen. “Drink this. It will help to mask your scent, which I’ve got to say is interesting, human.”