He rolled to the side, cushioned her there in his arms, and listened to the silence around him. How long they lay there wasn’t measured in time but by moments. He carefully moved long tendrils of hair from her face, and she moved into the crux of his embrace.
They didn’t speak. What was there to say? Her smell was on him. It was in him, and he knew that if he took a hundred showers, it would never leave. He glanced down at her and felt his heart clutch.
Her eyes were large, open, glittering diamonds. Her mouth, bruised from his kisses, taunted him. Something tightened in his chest, painfully so, and he could do nothing but hold her. How could he give this up?
He was so screwed.
Overhead the first hoot of an owl sounded, and she shivered. This time he knew she was cold.
“We better get back.” He started to roll away from her, but her hand was on him.
“Wait.”
She sat on her knees, a fiery goddess, her nudity making him hard once more. He wanted her again—wanted to lose himself inside her—but there was no time.
“I’ve never . . .” She blushed and cleared her throat. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before.” She laughed then, a throaty note of glee and kissed him softly on the lips. “Thank you. Next time I promise we’ll take it slow.”
Azaiel stood and flexed his stiff muscles. “Next time?”
She stared at up him, her perfect heart-shaped face open and trusting. “Yes. Next time.”
The heat inside Azaiel fled with the coming dusk. He doubted there’d be a next time, and he wanted it. Badly. He tossed Rowan her clothes, slipped into his jeans and boots. He was still shirtless and waited while she tied up her running shoes.
Just like that, reality intruded, and he felt empty inside. They had just enough time to grab some food and head into Salem. Things were heating up, and there were several events in town that would surely garner the attention of Mallick’s minions.
“Ready?”
She nodded. Azaiel was just about to head down the path that led to the Cauldron when Rowan’s hand wrapped around his wrist. The air stilled—emptied of everything, save for their beating hearts and something else. They weren’t alone.
Azaiel peered into the shadows that blanketed the clearing and prepared himself as several figures slid from between them. Only one concerned him. The one with all the power.
A fae—Dark fae. He was tall and lean, with long, elegant lines. All fae were attractive, but this man was supremely so. His classic features, pale eyes, and long, dark hair made for an arresting face. His clothing was simple, yet the suit spoke of money and privilege. The men with him were dressed similarly as if they’d just come from a dinner party.
Azaiel watched the man closely, muscles tense and ready in case of an attack. Dark fae held many layers of magick hidden amongst the glamour they projected. Azaiel’s gifts might be diminished, but the deadly power that shrouded this fae was impressive.
“We need to talk.” The man’s voice was melodic and enticing. His eyes were so light they were nearly colorless, with the merest whisper of blue. They glittered eerily, filled with otherworld power.
Rowan walked out from behind Azaiel and faced the group of men with raised chin and squared shoulders.
She snuck a glance at Azaiel, licked her lips, and spoke.
“Hello, Father.”
Chapter 30
Rowan stared across the clearing at the man who’d given her life. At the man she’d met fewer times than the fingers on her hands. He never changed. Darrick was still an elegant, dangerously attractive man. Nana claimed he had a mean, selfish streak and was bad news. Someone to be avoided at all cost, yet . . . there was a connection there, she felt it pulse inside.
His eyes narrowed, and she knew he was offended by what had just occurred. The smell of sex was rank in the air. Had he watched? Was he that depraved?
“Why are you here?” No need to beat around the bush.
Darrick glanced behind him, and the three fae who hovered near the edge of the forest disappeared.
He ignored her and settled his eerie eyes upon Azaiel. “You took my son from this realm and placed him in danger.”
“Your son is a big boy,” Azaiel responded lightly, but Rowan felt the tension. Azaiel was ready to pounce.
Darrick’s gaze lingered on the Seraphim for several long moments. “I know who you are. What you did.” The fae asked silkily, “Does she?”
Rowan stepped forward as anger flushed through her. She was done living in the background. “I’ll ask you one more time, Father, why are you here?”
Darrick’s glacial eyes settled on her once more, and something shifted in their depths. He studied her for a few moments, then walked toward them until he stood but inches away.
“Your mother did well. You should remember that.”
“What do you mean?”
She watched Darrick warily as a smile stole over his features, yet his eyes remained frosty cold. “She chose me.” He paused, watching her closely. “Did you know that?”
Rowan shook her head, confused. What was he getting at?
“She sought me out to father her children. Enticed me from the woods, then rejected me.”
Rowan snorted. “She rejected you? Are you trying to say that you actually wanted us?”
His eyes narrowed, and his face darkened. “I wanted your mother and had no idea she’d been marked by the demon lord.”
Rowan exhaled, aware that it was nearly dark. She and Azaiel needed to patrol. “Why are you telling me this? It’s not like Kellen or I care.”
Darrick’s eyes narrowed, and she felt his anger. “Kellen will care one day when his legacies ascend. He’ll need me. He’ll need my protection.” Darrick exhaled. “Right now he’s vulnerable. He needs your protection. I can’t stop what’s coming. There are those who would tie my hands, but I can give you this . . .”
The fae held out his hand, and Rowan gazed upon a jeweled dagger. The hilt was inscribed with runes, and the power it held was impressive. It emanated outward, a soft glow of heat slithering along the sharp lines. “Take it,” he ordered.
Rowan glanced at Azaiel, but the Seraphim’s eyes were hooded, his mouth tense.
“What is it?”
“It’s a little extra power that I borrowed from my queen.”
She stared at it, not really sure what she should do. Her Nana had never trusted the fae, and yet . . .
“Just take it, Rowan. It may aid you in your endeavor tomorrow night.” At Rowan’s look of surprise her father snorted. “I know exactly what you’re planning, and I know how dangerous it will be.” His voice dropped. “I will do what I can to keep the demons at bay.” He arched a brow. “To aid in your quest. In exchange I only ask that you keep Kellen safe. Until he ascends I can’t bring him into my realm. I can’t even acknowledge him or my enemies will destroy him. Do you understand?”
Something twisted inside Rowan, a slice of pain she’d not been prepared for. “This is all about Kellen,” she whispered.
“Of course it is.” Darrick stood back, his expression unreadable. “What did you think it was about? You mean nothing to me, child, but your brother.” The fae nodded. “When he comes into his powers he will be a force to be reckoned with, and one day we will rule the between worlds together.”
His words hurt. After all this time, they still hurt. Azaiel grabbed her hand, and she leaned into him, eyes never leaving her father.
Darrick stepped back, his tall form slowly disappearing amongst the gray mist that encroached from the forest. And then he was gone.
“He’s one cold son of a bitch,” Azaiel said quietly. She felt his eyes upon her but couldn’t look at him. The dagger was heavy in her palm, and she clutched it tightly. For a few moments her gaze locked onto the empty space where Darrick had stood, then she carefully pulled away from Azaiel and nodded toward the trees.
“Time to head into Salem.” Her voice was light.
“Yes.�
�
“If anyone asks . . .” Her cheeks were pink, and she avoided his eyes.
Azaiel fell in beside her. “We were just talking.”
They started forward. “Strategizing about tomorrow night.”
“Going over all the details.”
They entered the silent darkness of the forest.
Rowan smiled wryly. “No one is going to believe that.”
Azaiel shook his head. “Nope. Not a chance.”
By the time they reached the bed-and-breakfast, Hannah, Nico, Priest, and Kellen had already left for town, along with most of the human hunters. A reported riot had broken out near one of the bars, involving demon and vampire mercenaries. Vicki, Abigail, and Terre were just leaving.
Vicki ignored Rowan though she graced Azaiel with a look that could kill. Terre stuck her tongue out at her twin and winked at Rowan as she climbed into Abigail’s beat-up jeep. The three of them sped into the night while Rowan and Azaiel quickly changed so they could join them.
Ten minutes later she was just about to hop onto the back of Azaiel’s Harley when her mother appeared, Mikhail at her side.
Marie-Noelle’s face was white, her mouth pinched. She was agitated, and the wild look that hadn’t surfaced of yet was present in her eyes once more. “I felt him,” she said quickly. “Darrick.”
Rowan paused beside the bike and adjusted the dagger Darrick had given her inside her leather jacket. “He was here.” Rowan shrugged. “You don’t need to worry. He won’t bother either one of you.”
“I don’t fear the fae,” Mikhail growled.
Rowan climbed up behind Azaiel. “You should, gargoyle.” She thought of the power she’d sensed and of how little they really knew about the between realm. “I think we all should.”
“What did he want?” Her mother’s hands twisted together, and her face was clammy with sweat.
“He . . . wants us to be safe.”
Marie-Noelle was silent for a moment, but when Azaiel started the bike she rushed forward and stopped just short of the Harley. “Rowan, I’m so . . .” She struggled to speak.
The block of pain inside her chest had shattered several days ago, but Rowan still couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with it. Not now. “I know,” she said quietly.
Marie-Noelle took another step forward, but Rowan tapped Azaiel on the back. “Let’s go.”
Azaiel nodded to Mikhail. “Keep watch over Cedric and Rowan’s mother.”
The gargoyle nodded solemnly, then Azaiel and Rowan roared into the night.
The last night before Samhain—the possible last night of her life—was like any of the others she’d passed over the last two weeks. She and Azaiel killed several demons, dispatched a few vampires to an early grave, and restored order among the human populace. They patrolled relentlessly, hooked up with the others, and laid waste to a rabid pack of blood demons that descended just before dawn.
When it was over, Rowan was tired, bloody, bruised, and running on adrenaline that was fast leaving. She’d kept her mind empty of anything except the mission at hand, but as she rode behind Azaiel, as her hands clutched his hard warmth to her body she nearly lost it.
A wall of emotion hit her in the chest and made it difficult to breathe. Her eyes watered, and she blinked rapidly in an effort to keep them clear. In the end she lost and rested her head on Azaiel’s back, swallowing the thick lump in her throat as the tears leaked from her eyes in slow rolls of sorrow.
Twelve hours to go. Twelve hours until she met the demon who’d piloted her ship—who’d steered her life with invisible hands.
Twelve hours until she either defeated Mallick or . . . she squeezed her eyes tightly and banished the thought from her mind.
They reached The Black Cauldron a few minutes later, and she slid from the Harley on legs that were weak, and if not for Azaiel, she might very well have dropped to the ground in a puddle of defeat. What kind of warrior was she?
He lifted her into his arms and held her to his chest as if she were a treasure of the utmost fragility. Her arms crept around his neck, and she closed her eyes once more. Not wanting to see anyone, or talk to anyone. All she wanted was Azaiel.
He carried her into the house, bypassed Cedric and Abigail, and took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for her bedroom. Once inside he leaned against the door and just held her. Rowan shuddered, over and over, her tight frame overcome with pain. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the silent emotions inside her subsided, but eventually she relaxed in his arms.
She opened her eyes, angled her head, and drank in his beauty. He stared down at her with an intensity she felt in her bones. It was one of want and need and desire. At that moment he mirrored everything she felt, and a strangled noise erupted from her throat. She couldn’t speak but tenderly caressed his face.
How had this man she’d just met come to mean so much to her? Was it fate that she’d only met him now? When her life was in jeopardy?
He leaned into her touch and still, with no words spoken, he read her mind. Azaiel carried her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As hot steam filled her bathroom they tore at each other’s clothes, ripping, tearing . . . destroying in an effort to touch. To feel.
In seconds he stood before her. Six feet six inches of raw, masculine beauty, and she reveled in the knowledge that at least for today he was hers. His eyes were no longer golden but bled through with the edgy black that she loved.
“Azaiel, I . . .” Her voice caught, and she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t say the things that floated inside her head.
I think I love you.
I think I want you forever.
I think this is my last chance for happiness.
He lifted her into his arms and claimed her mouth in the most gentle, exquisite kiss ever. As light as a feather his lips parted hers, and he invaded with a sweep of his tongue. She groaned into him, and her head fell back as she let him take. Let him taste and caress.
He stepped into the shower, and she slid down the length of him as her fingers sought the straining hardness between them. He watched her in silence as the hot spray from above baptized them in liquid heat, and when she slowly massaged the tip of his cock and cupped his balls he clenched his teeth, but his gaze never wavered from her.
He was velvet-encased steel in her hands. God, he felt perfect, and his eyes glittered, sparks of gold lighting them each time she gripped him and massaged. The fatigue from earlier had long fled; whether it was because of the hot spray or the hot man in front of her didn’t matter.
Rowan knelt in front of Azaiel and took him into her mouth. She smiled at the strangled sound he made, and when his fisted hands loosened and crept into her hair she was exhilarated by the power she felt.
She was swollen with need, her sex throbbing with an ache only Azaiel could assuage, but first, she wanted to pleasure her man. To give him something to remember her by.
She licked and suckled and massaged until his hips jerked in tandem with her motions, and when he swore, when he lifted her away she smiled wickedly, knowing how close to the edge she’d taken him.
His eyes had turned fully black, and he looked like the fierce warrior he was. His dark blond hair was plastered to his skull, and the feral look in his eyes touched something inside her. He pulled her upward and claimed her mouth once more, his hands on her breasts, kneading, tugging, and teasing until whimpers fell from her, one after the other. His tongue probed deeply as did his fingers, and when he found her hot, wet, center and plunged two long digits deep inside his kiss swallowed a scream.
He stretched and fingered, and her hips jerked, hard, as he touched that spot so deep inside—the one that controlled her pleasure. He smiled against her, cajoling an orgasm and murmuring words she didn’t understand.
Azaiel tore his mouth away and whispered hoarsely, “Come for me, Rowan. Only for me.”
How could she not? Rowan clutched at him as her stomach contracted, and the ache inside her womb
expanded, stretched to the limit by his insanely talented fingers. She then shuddered. Once. Twice. And still he held her gaze.
The glow of her orgasm had barely registered when he began to pleasure her in earnest. His hands were all over her body. Long, soapy fingers swooped over her waist, her hips, and down her thighs. He massaged every inch of her flesh, lingering near her butt, and she blushed when she thought of what he’d done to her in the clearing. Of how wonderful he’d made her feel.
When he shampooed her hair, massaged her scalp, every single nerve and cell in her body was on fire. Trembling. Aching with desire.
Her chest was tight, and for some silly reason she felt like crying again. She took a moment, but when she glanced back her soul was reflected in his eyes, and their connection solidified in a way she’d not felt before.
He was hers. And she was his.
Azaiel lifted her—he kissed her again, a tender, lingering kiss that made her dizzy. He moved until she rested against the warm tiles of the shower, and his eyes held her as he adjusted her in his embrace and slowly sank his long length deep inside her.
“Oh Azaiel,” she whispered, biting her lip as he pulled out, then slowly entered her again. He filled her completely, stretching her walls and hitting that spot—that special fucking spot—as he did so.
She strained against him, the ache so fierce that her body was flush with the heat of it.
“No,” he said softly. “Let me love you slowly.” He kissed her nose, thrust again, and was rewarded with a sob. “And thoroughly.” He kissed the sensitive area under her ear, thrust again, and growled as she cried out. “But keep your eyes on me,” he warned.
Rowan gazed at him, helpless to do anything else as he held her hips in place and rocked into her with a motion that left her breathless. This was to be a slow, seductive loving, and she’d have it no other way.
“Watch me, Rowan.” His voice was hoarse, and he increased the rhythm slightly, his white teeth flashing as he growled fiercely. “I want to see you come. Understand?”
King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel Page 30