King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel

by Juliana Stone

  She nodded. Oh God. How could she look anywhere else? In that moment he was everything to her. He filled her completely—her mind, her body . . . her soul.

  Her arms trailed down his back, and she cupped his hard ass as he slowly, methodically filled her with each controlled thrust. Yet his muscles bulged, and she knew what it cost him to prolong their pleasure. He was riding as close to the edge as she.

  When he captured a turgid nipple in his mouth and suckled, tugged, and teased, she thought she was going to lose it. Rowan wriggled her hips and dug her fingers into his shoulders, urging him on, but he licked her nipple and gazed into her eyes once more, a wicked grin on his face as he continued to screw her slowly and thoroughly.

  “I want it faster,” she begged.

  Her shoulders dug into the tiles as he pushed into her. “Manners, Rowan.”

  “What?” He was inside her, the long length of him settled against the tight walls of her vagina. Azaiel rolled his hips, and she gasped at the riot of sensation that ran through her.

  The veins on the side of his neck bulged, the lines smooth and glistening beneath the relentless hot spray of water. Azaiel rocked into her again, and again, with slow, controlled precision, his handsome face fierce as he gazed into her eyes. “Ask. Me. Nicely,” he managed to say before claiming her other nipple.

  Rowan let him ease out of her for the last time, and when he slid inside she anchored her right leg against his while her left hugged his hip. She leaned backward so that she could see where they were joined, and looked up at him, her mind filled with the erotic images of their bodies intertwined.

  “Faster, please,” she gasped.

  Their gazes locked, and Azaiel obliged, with harder thrusts that electrified with every deep stroke. The ball of energy inside, the one filled with sensation and passion, unfurled and spread liquid heat throughout her body. And as they rushed toward the pinnacle of their joining, as their bodies strained and rocked together, she knew she’d found the place she wanted to be for the rest of her life.

  With him. With this man. Warrior. Angel.

  But did he want her?

  Azaiel grunted. “Don’t look away.”

  And there beneath the warm, wet spray they watched each other in silence as they both shattered into a million pieces.

  Later, when she was tucked inside Azaiel’s arms, deep within the softness of her blankets, she asked the one thing that had been on her mind for days.

  “Tonight, if I’m not able to . . .” His arms tightened around her, and Rowan snuggled into the spot between this shoulder and neck. She tried again. “If I don’t defeat Mallick, you will make sure he never claims me.” She paused as the hurt inside filled her throat. At the thought of what might never be.

  At the thought of what she wanted. “He can’t claim me,” she whispered.

  Azaiel’s heart beat strong beneath her ear, and his warmth filled her soul. He kissed the top of her head. “He won’t. Of that, you can be assured.”

  Hearing his words was like a salve to a wound. Rowan closed her eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep. She never knew when the Seraphim left her side, but hours later it was the small orange tabby who took his place, and it was the animal’s purring that kept her deep in dreamland.

  Chapter 31

  “I’m down to my last two cigars.”

  Azaiel turned and spied Priest in the shadows. “Are you sharing?”

  The Knight Templar handed him a crisp Montecristo, stood to the side, and offered a light. It was nearing dusk, and there were but hours before Rowan would summon Mallick. Time was running out, with each passing minute bringing them closer to a conclusion that was not assured.

  Priest blew out a perfect circle of smoke and leaned on the railing beside Azaiel. “We need to confirm whether the demon lord knows about the League.”

  Azaiel nodded.

  “Do you have something in mind?” Priest asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Good to know. I’ve always enjoyed a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of operation. Makes it that much more exciting, no?”

  Azaiel shrugged. “Is there any other kind?”

  Priest laughed softly, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of their task. “We need to know. If the League has been breached . . .”

  Azaiel straightened, letting the coffee-flavored taste of the cigar settle on his palate. “It is the reason we came.” He turned to the Templar. “Rowan should be filled in.”

  The Templar studied him for a few moments before glancing out toward the subdued group of hunters gathered around Vicki’s RV. “She might be the only one with time to ask the questions that need to be asked.”

  Priest’s eyes stayed on him for longer than he liked, and Azaiel looked away. His gut was churning in all sorts of directions, and he had no fucking clue what the night would bring. But he did know one thing.

  In the space of a few weeks, Rowan James had insinuated herself into his life—into the air that he breathed for Christ sake—and he had no clue how he was going to say good-bye. After living for more time than he deserved. After his fall. After his imprisonment. After all of that, he’d finally found someone who meant more to him than his own life.

  And for Rowan, his life was something he’d willingly give. And the thoughts that had been swirling in his head rose to the surface once more. Thoughts of a life with her. Of what it would mean. What it would entail.

  “Thank bloody hell,” Priest muttered, and strode down the steps.

  Azaiel’s head whipped up, and he frowned, following Priest down the steps as two forms fell from shadow. One was a small, round ball of a man and the other, a tall warrior with a powerful build and eyes as hard as steel.

  “Cale.” Priest shook hands with the warrior, but it was the small man who walked forward and ran his hands over his bald head in a nervous gesture that Azaiel watched.

  “Askelon.”

  The small man shrugged. “I prefer Bill, if you don’t mind.” He smiled and shrugged. “At least while in this form.”

  Azaiel nodded. “As you wish.”

  “Where is she?” Bill asked quietly.

  “I’m here.”

  All four men glanced toward the porch, and Azaiel’s chest tightened as his gaze fell upon Rowan. Her pale beauty transcended the darkness that was fast approaching. Dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, she did not look like the fierce demon-hunting witch that she was. Her blue eyes were on Azaiel, but it was Bill that she addressed as she slowly joined them on the grass.

  “Been a long time, Mr. Bill.”

  The Seraphim nodded, his voice subdued. “I’m so very sorry to hear about Cara. You must know she meant a lot to me.” He gestured toward Cale and Priest. “To all of us.”

  Rowan nodded. Azaiel saw the pain in her eyes. The slight tremble of her lips. But he also saw the strength that resided there—the determination and focus.

  “I’ve brought you something.” Bill nodded toward Cale, and the warrior stepped forward.

  Cale held his hand out. The air misted and swirled along his skin, and seconds later he held a large sword in his grip, its rune-filled blade shining with a dangerous glint. The sword of Gideon.

  Azaiel nodded toward Bill, grateful that he’d come through, and he watched as Rowan approached Cale. She hesitated for a moment, then lifted the sword into her hands, sweeping the air in an arc as she tested the blade.

  “Mother-trucker! That looks like the freaking blade of Gryffindor!” Hannah jumped between them all, her eyes wide.

  “The what?” Nico scowled as he joined her.

  Hannah’s blond head whipped around. “Um, dude . . . Harry Potter?”

  The jaguar’s scowled deepened, but he remained silent as Rowan stared at the majestic weapon. She arched a brow at Priest. “You’ve got some pretty heavy-duty connections, my friend.”

  Priest nodded, the cigar held tight between his teeth, and patted Cale on the back. “You sticking around for this one?�
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  Cale shook his head. The tall, dark-haired warrior grimaced. “Unfortunately not this time, though I’d give anything to kick that son of a bitch’s ass.” Cale’s steely gaze rested on Rowan. “Good luck. He’s a formidable opponent, but his fatal flaw is arrogance. Play on that.” He then glanced at Bill. “We should go. I feel him lingering out there searching for her.”

  Bill nodded. “Of course. One minute please.” He gestured, and Rowan bent forward, so that he was able to whisper into her ear, his small chubby hand closed over her own. Rowan nodded in response to whatever it was Bill imparted and hugged the small man fiercely. Azaiel heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

  Bill cleared his throat and crossed to Azaiel. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

  Azaiel fell in step with his brother, and they stopped just beyond the large oak tree, where dusk seemed heavier, and the coolness of twilight was sharp.

  “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” Bill gazed into the darkness, his voice subdued.

  Azaiel nodded but remained silent. What was there to say?

  “This coming war will test all of us, my friend. We’ll be asked to do things . . . hard things.”

  “Askelon, I know what needs to be done. If she can’t defeat Mallick, I will send her to the gray realm.” His words were bitter and left him empty inside.

  Bill turned to him, and Azaiel saw pain reflected in his eyes. “She’s so like Cara, and her mother, Marie-Noelle.” Bill’s eyes narrowed slightly, and something shifted in his face. “She’s come to mean a lot to you.”

  Azaiel rotated his neck slowly in an effort to loosen up the tense muscles along his shoulders. “She is one hell of a woman,” he admitted softly.

  “You cannot have her, Azaiel. Not as long as you are Seraphim.”

  There it was. Spelled out in black-and-white. “I know.”

  Bill held his gaze for several, long moments, then looked behind. “I must go before my presence here is felt, but know this.” The small man grasped Azaiel’s hands together. “I never lost faith in you. I am proud to call you brother.”

  Azaiel’s eyes welled as Bill stepped away. He remained tight-lipped, not trusting himself to speak, and watched his brother, his mentor—his savior—retreat into the darkness, with Cale close on his heels.

  “The veil is thinning. It’s nearly time.” Rowan’s eyes were full of questions.

  Azaiel glanced toward Priest. The Knight Templar clenched his cigar, nodded, and turned away, barking orders and taking charge.

  Azaiel watched her closely. “It is.”

  Her forehead furled, and she bit her lip in that nervous way that she had. “Is there something else going on that I don’t know about? I mean, I’ve never really pushed the issue . . . asked the question.”

  “What question is that, Rowan?”

  She gazed up into his eyes, and his heart rolled over. “Who are you people? Really?”

  He held out his hand. “I’ve some things to tell you before this night begins.”

  Rowan put her small hand in his without hesitation, and that gesture alone was enough to undo him. Inside, Azaiel’s emotions twisted into a hard ball that settled at the back of his throat.

  They walked until they found themselves in the back garden and paused there amongst the pumpkins and cornstalks and oak trees bare of leaves. Rowan slipped into his arms, and for the longest time he just held her. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, inhaled her scent, and reveled in her warmth.

  After a while she moved, and reluctantly he released her, his dark thoughts reflected on his face.

  “Just tell, me,” she said simply. “Everything.”

  And so he did.

  Azaiel told her of his origins. Of his fall from grace at the hands of the betrayer. He told her of his weakness—how he’d sculpted a dangerous portal for Toniella, one that would have ripped apart the upper and lower realms. He shared his subsequent banishment to the Hell realm and told her of his escape. How he used an eagle shifter, Skye Knightly . . . how his vengeance nearly ripped the world apart, again.

  He told Rowan how Cormac O’Hara had tortured and maimed him in a bid to find the portal, yet he’d taken everything and more because he deserved it. He was the Fallen. He didn’t deserve his brother’s, Bill’s, devotion, but he’d vowed he would do whatever it took to help Bill, and yet now . . .

  “Now?” she prompted gently.

  Azaiel ran fingers through the thick hair atop his head. “Now I don’t know if I have the strength to do what needs to be done.” His breaths fell erratically. “Mallick cannot be allowed to claim you.”

  “I’m totally fine with that.”

  His eyes pierced hers. “You know what that means?”

  She nodded but didn’t answer for several seconds. “I would sacrifice myself before I let that bastard get his hands on me, and I will trust you to do the deed if the time comes. He killed my grandmother.”

  Azaiel cursed and shook his head. “That we’re not one hundred percent sure of.”

  “What?” Rowan flew at him. Pumped her fists against his chest. “How can you say that? Who else would want to hurt Cara?”

  A long, shuddering breath escaped him. “We don’t know.”

  “We?” Rowan frowned and moved away, though her eyes never left his. “Go on.”

  “Cara was part of a group that watched from the shadows, working to preserve the balance between the realms.”

  She arched a brow. “You, Priest, and the others are part of this group?”

  Azaiel nodded.

  “Well, how come I’ve never heard of it?”

  “The group is secretive, with members mixing on a need-to-know basis. There are those who dwell in the lower realms, the upper realms, and beyond. Both human and otherworld. I only know the identities of a handful for a reason. Our identities must be protected at all cost.”

  “And yet you’ve just shared this with me.”

  “Sometimes the rules must be bent. There are those who would seek to end us, so when one is murdered, it raises the question. Has the League been breached? Does someone know who we are?”

  “You’re not convinced Mallick killed my Nana.”

  “At this point we don’t know if he is in fact responsible for her death, and if he is . . . did he kill Cara because of you? Or her affiliation with the League.”

  “Or for both reasons.”

  “True.”

  “The dream to be free of my destiny was always an empty one.” She shrugged. “It just took me six years to figure it out.” She sighed and ran her fingers across the top of her temple. “Mallick’s hold over my family ends tonight, and I’ll find out the truth about Nana’s death one way or another.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  After a good long while she whispered, “Okay.”

  She moved toward him again, put her fingers against his skin. “He won’t win. I won’t let him, and when this is all over . . .”

  Azaiel stared down at the woman who’d claimed every single cell in his body and felt himself tremble at her touch. He heard the question in her voice, and the answer in his heart was bittersweet. He bent down and brushed his mouth across hers. “The only way I could stay is if I was less than ordinary. If I wasn’t Seraphim.”

  “Well, then.” She stilled beneath his touch. “That’s that.”

  She pulled away and smiled. “It’s time. Let’s dance, shall we?”

  Chapter 32

  The night was moonless. A thick, heavy blanket of dark with only the glow from her candles to light the way.

  Rowan felt ill, and every step that she took toward the clearing, she wanted to take another in the other direction and run until she couldn’t run anymore. Her head was heavy, and her heart full of pain.

  The information that Azaiel had imparted wasn’t shocking. It wasn’t a huge revelation. Hell, she’d known all along that this supernatural A-team wasn’t your run-of-the-mill operation. And she was proud that
her grandmother had been part of their group. Their League of Guardians.

  I want him.

  And that was the heart of her pain. Azaiel. In a few hours she might not even exist in this realm, and if she did succeed . . . she was bound to her family and he was bound to this League . . . this group of warriors.

  They could never be together. Those had been his words. They fucking sucked.

  “Miss Rowan. We’re almost there.” Cedric spoke quietly, and her focus shifted. The clearing was dead ahead; she saw candles burning through the trees.

  “Are you sure you want to stay, Cedric?” She glanced at her mother. “Mikhail can take you back to the house.”

  The old man turned to her, anger in his eyes. “Now you listen to me, child. I don’t need no damn coddling. I will see this ended and that abomination destroyed, you hear?”

  Rowan nodded, a smile touching her lips. “I hear.”

  “Everything okay?” Kellen appeared at her side, his face tense, his eyes somber.

  Rowan nodded. “Is everyone in place?”

  “The Blackstones are in town patrolling with the Lawrences. The others are here along with Azaiel and his crew.” Kellen touched her cheek. “We’re ready. Let’s do this. Let’s end this once and for all. For Nana.”

  “For Nana,” she whispered.

  They entered the clearing, and she felt the weight of everyone’s gaze as she slowly made her way toward them. Her family. Her tribe. Her people. So many faces—aunts, cousins, the entire James coven—and all of them were here for her.

  Frank nodded from across the clearing as he handed out modified weapons to the hunters who would patrol the woods. His face was tense, his expression fierce, his forehead covered in sweat. He winked and continued on, barking orders to the hunters.

  Hannah stepped in front of her. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Her blond hair had a blue streak down the middle, and she pointed to it, shrugging. “I decided to color-coordinate with Nico, but he didn’t find it amusing.” Hannah’s mouth tightened. “In fact he was kind of pissed off.”