King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel

by Juliana Stone

  “Men,” Rowan said softly.

  “Yeah.” Hannah paused for a second, her eyes misty, her voice trembling. “I want you to fry that mother-trucker. Okay?”

  Rowan hugged her cousin, and whispered, “I’ll do my best.”

  Rowan cleared her throat as she turned from Hannah, eyes searching for Azaiel and feeling more than a little deflated that he was nowhere to be seen.

  She spoke clearly as she addressed the circle. “I will bury Mallick tonight. One way or another. His hold on our family will end.” She swallowed thickly as she caught sight of her mother. Marie-Noelle’s face was pale, but she stood, arms linked with Vicki and Terre.

  “This circle must stand strong, and I need all of you to find whatever strength you can to keep it solid. Once inside, I will summon him, and I have no idea what will happen.”

  Rowan took a step forward and halted when she caught sight of Azaiel on the outskirts of the circle. His expression was fierce. He exuded power, and she fed from his strength, felt his energy surround her like a warm blanket.

  I love him.

  He nodded as if he’d heard her, and everything fell away in that moment. I can do this. The invisible weight of the sword of Gideon rested against her hip while the dagger her father had given her was hidden in the pocket of her jeans.

  Time was up, but she was cool with that. She was ready.

  Rowan exhaled slowly, walked forward, and stepped into the circle.

  Four candles in a square bordered the circle of witches. Young and old joined hands; among their ranks were Priest, Kellen, and Azaiel. The black jaguar patrolled the outer ring, his large tail sweeping back and forth as the women chanted.

  Their energy lit up the night with a soft glow that hovered above them, and all around the souls of the dead came to visit. It was Samhain, the veil had thinned, and their energy was welcome.

  Rowan stood alone inside the circle, seeing things she’d never dreamed of. Women appeared before her—women who she knew. She knew their names, their faces, and their minds. These were her people—the many witches who’d lived before her. And there were those whose faces were rotted, maggot-filled, and sunken. They called to her for vengeance.

  They were the ones Mallick had defiled. Depleted. And destroyed. Her family. Her tribe.

  One face appeared and nearly ripped her heart out. “Nana,” she whispered.

  Cara James stood just behind her daughter and placed her hand upon Marie-Noelle’s shoulder. Her sorrowful eyes held Rowan’s gaze for several long moments before Cara closed her eyes and began to chant.

  Rowan did the same and let her hands fall to her side as she recited the spell in her mind—the one that would open the mark on her neck. The words fell from her lips, and with each passing moment, she felt the skin on her flesh burn and recoil as Mallick’s mark was restored.

  A great roaring echoed in her ear, swept in by a wind that brought with it not only debris but the smell of depravity and evil. Her hair twisted above her head, and she struggled to keep her legs steady as she cleared her mind of everything except Mallick.

  The howling wind intensified, and the pressure inside her head was fierce. Fog rolled in, sweeping through the clearing in waves of cold mist that dampened her clothes. Rowan’s ears popped, and she cried out and fell to her knees, clutching the back of her neck in pain.

  She heard nothing but her heartbeat. Suddenly the wind died down, and there was silence. It pressed upon her, and when she opened her eyes he was there. In her circle. Inches away.

  Mallick stared down at her with eyes the color of glacial ice. His thick, glossy hair was pulled back, tied behind his head in a long ponytail the color of midnight. He was dressed in black. Head to toe.

  Rowan smiled. They were funeral clothes. How fucking appropriate.

  His handsome face changed—a subtle shift in the eyes and mouth—as he glanced behind her, then turned in a circle.

  “You think to trap me?” His voice was deep, with an accent not heard in the human realm. It was not unlike Azaiel’s though the demon’s was thicker as if his voice box was seldom used.

  “I thought we could have a chat.” Slowly she got to her feet and eyed him warily.

  “A chat,” he mocked. “How human.” He arched a brow and smiled widely. “I will enjoy breaking you, Rowan.”

  “Like you broke Cara? Did it make you feel powerful to maim an old woman who had no chance to defend herself?”

  He laughed. A full-bodied belly laugh that reverberated inside her head and made her nauseous. Had he done the deed?

  “You’re a coward, Mallick. Hiding behind the skirts of my family. My blood.” Rowan’s fingers itched with the burn of her power. “You crossed the line when you left my grandmother to die like a piece of garbage. When you tortured and marked her.”

  Even now, the details of Cara’s death were difficult to comprehend, and a part of her wished that Azaiel hadn’t shared everything with her.

  Mallick’s grin widened, his serrated teeth glinting in the shadows cast by the fires that burned around them. “You think I would kill and torture someone loved by you and”—he arched a brow—“not make you watch?”

  Rowan’s face whitened, and she took a step forward, hands raised.

  Mallick paused, nostrils flared, and his eyes widened in anger. The earth trembled beneath her feet, and she nearly fell as she struggled to keep her balance.

  “You’ve given yourself to another.” Bloodred eyes stared at her, his fury impressive as he bared serrated teeth at her. “You will pay for that. You belong to me.” Mallick snarled and glanced around once more. “You all belong to me.”

  “No.”

  Mallick cocked his head and seemed surprised that she’d spoken. “That will cost you, little witch.”

  “No,” she said again as the coven closed ranks, and their chanting increased. Their power floated in the air and slid over her skin with ease. Rowan caught sight of her mother . . . of her Nana and her cousins. Hannah’s eyes were riveted to Mallick as she chanted along with the others. Their strength, their bond was inside her now. She felt it coil around her heart and soul.

  A face appeared from the mist, an old, worn, tragic face. She knew it was Agatha, the one who’d called Mallick forth so long ago. Agatha nodded and screamed.

  Mallick roared in anger and summoned his own army. They attacked, and Rowan knew she needed to act quickly. Her hunters could only hold them off for so long, even with the added strength of the fae, whom she felt along the fringes of the circle.

  She began to recite the binding spell and sidestepped agilely as Mallick lunged toward her. The coven’s power sizzled in the air, a beautiful luminescent conduit that fed directly into Rowan. She used it, smiling wickedly as Mallick struggled to get closer to her—to break through the energy that protected her.

  She closed her eyes, trusting her sisters completely, and the words fell from her lips, the ones that would bind him and keep him subdued while she excised his essence from his physical body.

  When the binding spell was complete, Rowan’s eyes flew open, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her voice hoarse.

  Mallick was livid. He glared at her with such hatred that for a moment fear sliced through her, and she thought she might be sick.

  I will enjoy making you pay for this over and over, you dumb bitch.

  The wind whipped at her furiously, and she struggled to keep herself upright, to keep his voice out of her head as she turned to Hannah. Her cousin tossed a large jar toward her, and Rowan caught it handily, setting it on the ground between them as she held out her hand and called forth the sword of Gideon.

  Mallick’s mouth frothed when he caught sight of it, and he bellowed loudly, his voice screeching as he called for his forces to annihilate the coven. Screams echoed on the wind, but Rowan dared not take her eyes from the demon in front of her.

  She opened her mouth and stared directly into death’s gaze as she began to call forth the charm that would pul
l his essence from his body. Mallick’s facade wavered, and his true form shone through. It was pure darkness and evil. She closed her eyes, her stomach rolling as the horror she’d seen floated in her mind.

  A scream shattered through her brain, and Rowan stumbled to the ground, rolling to the side as the circle broke. “No!” she screamed, the spell interrupted. Abigail lay on the ground, a limp, rag doll with lifeless eyes and a deep wound to the neck. All around them chaos reigned.

  She felt Mallick behind her a half a second before pain erupted along her scalp. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and when she twisted his fist knocked the sword flying before slamming into the side of her head. Stars flickered in front of her, and the breath was knocked from her body as Mallick threw her to the ground with enough force to shake the earth.

  Blood spurted inside her mouth, and for a second Rowan was confused. Everything was too loud. Too chaotic. But then she saw him. Azaiel.

  He was shouting at her, trying to fight his way past several blood demons, and though she couldn’t hear him, the look in his eyes was enough to clear her head. She rolled to the side, her father’s dagger in her hand as she jackknifed to her feet and faced Mallick once more.

  “You stupid woman.” Spittle leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he bared his teeth once more. “I will kill you slowly, eat from you daily until you shrivel into nothing more than a husk of flesh. Then I will feed you to my dogs.”

  Rowan knew she had but one chance. “You forget, asshole.” The world fell away as she lunged toward him. “I’m not a woman.” She plunged the dagger into his neck and took him down, rolling with him on the ground as he sputtered in rage. He stilled beneath her hands, his veins bulging like black, spidery tattoos as she leaned toward him. “I’m the fucking witch who is going to end you.”

  She dug the dagger in as far as she could, watching as the fae poison spread throughout his body. Mallick’s eyes bulged, and froth leaked from the corners of his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

  She pushed away and began to recite once more, trusting her coven, her hunters . . . her lover to keep her safe as she completed the ritual.

  She was light-headed, her voice hoarse by the time Mallick’s mouth opened and his darkness erupted from every orifice, swirling in a tornado of dank, evil mist. Carefully, Rowan directed it into the large jar, and once it was captured, secured within the charmed glass, she glanced around wildly, her eyes searching for the sword of Gideon.

  Her eyes burned at the sight before her. The circle was surrounded, part of it breached. On the perimeter Mallick’s dark soldiers attacked with a frenzy, and she knew her forces couldn’t hold much longer.

  She crawled forward and spied Cedric. The old man stood beside Abigail’s prone body, and in his hands was the sword. He glanced up, eyes wet with tears, and she screamed at him to no avail. There, inches away stood a massive demon, its human form long gone and in its place, a seven-foot-tall wall of scales, muscle, and evil.

  Its long, clawlike hand punched into Cedric’s back and through his chest like a hammer smashing into bone.

  “No!” In one moment everything faded to gray, and Cedric’s eyes widened as he gazed at her. She saw his love for her family, his allegiance to her Nana. She saw his acceptance of his death.

  He fell forward and with a painful gasp tossed the sword into the air. Rowan leapt upward, aware the jar was cracking, shaking with the rage that it contained. Without hesitation she turned and separated Mallick’s head from his body.

  Chapter 33

  He’d watched her for hours, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way she curled her palm into her cheek, and he’d listened to the soft sounds that fell from her lips as she twisted among her blankets. Evening shadows crept along the walls of her bedroom, and he shifted, his long legs stiff, his body aching.

  It had been one hell of a battle. Abigail had been struck down, two of the human hunters along with her. Several of Darrick’s fae had been gravely injured, and Cedric . . . Azaiel sighed and rubbed his forehead. The gentle old man had died valiantly.

  A knock on the door drew his attention, and he rose as Priest entered.

  “Has she woken yet?”

  Azaiel shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Priest ran his hands across his temple and rolled his shoulder. “Nico and I are leaving. With Mallick gone, the threat to Salem’s been greatly diminished. The Blackstones and the Morins along with the rest of the coven should be able to rout out any laggers and take care of them.”

  “Good to know.” Azaiel paused. “There will be repercussions with Mallick’s death. Lucifer will not be happy that one of his own is gone, banished to the gray realm forever.”

  “No, I don’t suppose the bastard will like that.” Priest was silent for a few moments. “I hear you’re sticking around . . . for a while.”

  “News travels fast.”

  “That kind of news does.”

  Azaiel watched him closely. The Knight Templar was honorable. A true warrior. For whatever reason it mattered what the man thought. “You think me weak?”

  Priest shook his head. “No, brother. I think you’re brave.” A pause. “Did you get a chance to question Rowan?”

  “Not yet, she’s been—”

  “He didn’t do it,” Rowan whispered hoarsely. She sat up in the bed and pushed a mess of tangles out of her eyes. She looked from Priest and back to Azaiel. “I’m certain that Mallick didn’t kill my Nana.” Her eyes were shadowed with unshed tears, and Azaiel’s heart twisted when she gazed at him and whispered, “So who did? Are the rest of you in danger?”

  Priest swore and turned on his heel. “I’ve got to get to The Pines; this is not good news.” He reached into his jacket and retrieved a cigar.

  “I thought you were out.”

  He tossed it to Azaiel. “I am now.”

  Priest turned to Rowan, his voice soft. “What you did last night was one of the bravest things I’ve ever witnessed, and it’s one I won’t soon forget.” He bent forward and kissed her forehead. “Take care, little witch. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.”

  Priest nodded to Azaiel. “You too, Seraphim,” then he opened the door and left.

  Azaiel sank onto the bed and gathered Rowan into his arms. There were no words for a very long time, and he held her until the shadows solidified, and the room fell into darkness.

  She trembled in his arms, and shudders rolled over her shoulders. “Abigail, Cedric . . . oh God, Azaiel, what did I do? If I just . . . I should have just done this on my own.”

  “You couldn’t do this on your own, Rowan.”

  “They died because of me.”

  He stroked her hair and wished with all his might that he could take away her pain. “They didn’t die because of you. They died for you, knowing you’d do the same for them. Your circle held firm, and you defeated a demon lord who had terrorized your coven for centuries. That took a hell of a lot of guts. Most men I know wouldn’t have taken the chance you took, led your people the way you did.” He kissed the top of her head. “Your family is very proud of you, Rowan and now . . . now it’s over.”

  She looked up at him, her huge eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I should feel a lot of things, but my chest hurts, and I can’t get Abigail’s dead eyes out of my head.”

  He rubbed her shoulders and worked the knots until she relaxed.

  Finally Rowan spoke, her breath warm against his chest. “Where is my mother? And Kellen?”

  “They’re both here. They were unhurt.”

  She settled against him, burrowing into his chest. “Nana was there. I saw her, only briefly, but she was there.” She smiled tremulously. “I felt her warmth and her strength.”

  “She’s inside you, Rowan. Your grandmother will be with you always. As will Abigail and Cedric.”

  She exhaled a shaky breath. “When are you leaving?”

  “I’m not.”

  She wiggled in his grasp until he had to let her go, he
r eyes wide with confusion as she stared up at him. “I don’t . . . what do you mean?”

  Azaiel studied her closely, not sure of her reaction. “I thought I’d hang around for a while. Help with the cleanup. No one kills a demon lord of Mallick’s caliber without consequences. There will be more attacks, of that you can be assured.”

  She nodded slowly, and whispered, “How long?”

  It was crunch time, and his gut tightened, suddenly unsure. “How long would you have me?”

  “But . . .” She bit her lip, and it took everything in him not to reach down and cover her mouth with his. “I didn’t think it was possible.” Rowan shook her head. “Don’t toy with me, Azaiel. I’ve lost too much already.”

  He grabbed her chin and stared at her intently, his breath frozen, his heart about to explode. “How. Long. Will. You. Have. Me?”

  Her delicate brows arched, and he knew she was confused. She licked her lips and exhaled shakily. “I would have you for the rest of my life, but . . .”

  His mouth was on hers, a warm, gentle caress that left him aching inside. “You have me then.”

  Rowan broke away. “I don’t understand. I thought you had to go back to Bill and the League. I thought that you and I . . . that we wouldn’t be allowed to be together.”

  He nodded. “As long as I’m Seraphim, that is true.” He brushed her mouth once more. “I’m no longer Seraphim.”

  She pushed at him, frowning. “What do you mean you’re no longer Seraphim?”

  “When I was on trial my brothers, the other original Seraphim, stripped me of everything. They wanted me to be mortal. To feel pain and to suffer. Askelon gave me my immortality back in exchange for my allegiance. At the time it was important to me.” He shrugged. “That’s no longer the case. I asked him to release me, and after some persuasion, he agreed. I’ll still work for the League, of course, I’m just . . .”

  “You’re mortal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh Azaiel, what have you done?” The tears that shimmered in her eyes now fell freely, and she stepped back. The dead space inside him, the one that she’d filled, if only for a short while, began to crack, and his expression turned to granite.