King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

“Either you tell me who you are and what your business is here, or I’ll introduce you to my friend Mr. Extra Extra Special.” She waved the rifle once more. “And then maybe you’ll understand the kind of pain Azaiel is feeling.”

“She shot you?” Blue Mohawk grinned widely at that though his eyes remained hard, the color of golden topaz.

“Actually,” Hannah interrupted, and stepped forward, her large shiny eyes gleaming, “I shot him.”

Blue Mohawk’s focus shifted, and Hannah’s words dried up as the full power of his gaze rested on her. “Well then, I’m impressed. It’s not every day someone can impart such pain on a creature like him.”

Rowan cocked her rifle and aimed it directly between the shifter’s eyes. “I’m not asking again.” Frank had moved closer, his weapon drawn as well, and it seemed that Hannah finally got it—these men were dangerous. She pulled out her Glock with a smile and held it aloft.

Priest didn’t look worried. In fact he stared at the four of them with an amused look on his face. “Save your impressive ammo for later. Darkness has already descended on your town, witch, and it plans on having one hell of

a party.”

“Who are you, and why are you here?” Rowan asked pointedly.

The stranger’s eyes lingered on Azaiel for several more seconds, then he turned his full attention to Rowan. “I’m called Priest, and my friend here”—he nodded toward the shifter—“Nico.”

“No kidding. Please tell me you’re not really a priest,” Hannah interjected. “ ’Cause that would be a total waste.”

Rowan ignored her cousin and narrowed her eyes as she faced Priest. “And you’re here because . . .”

For a second she caught a flicker of something almost human in his eyes—a shadow of pain, or sadness—but then it was gone, and she wondered if it had ever been there. “We’re here for Cara. To invoke justice in her name and to find the persons responsible for her murder.”

Surprise clogged Rowan’s throat, and she worked hard to clear it, aware that Hannah had taken a step closer. “You knew my grandmother?”

Priest nodded. “I did. I know you, too, little witch, though you were but a child the last time I visited.”

A groan escaped Azaiel, and all thoughts about the newcomers and her grandmother fled as she turned to him. A thick sheen of sweat glistened against his skin, rivulets of it sliding down his chest and abs until they disappeared beneath his low-slung jeans. The path drew her eyes, and she swallowed thickly as she dragged her gaze back up, frowning at the wound on his shoulder. It oozed blood once more, the vibrant red liquid harsh against his pallor, which was awful—the color of dirty dishwater.

Rowan slipped her arm beneath his, and when he would have shrugged away from her help, she clasped him harder. Azaiel glanced down at her, and the dullness of his golden eyes was troubling.

“If you’re really here to help, then someone get the damn door. Your friend here is about to pass out.”

“He’s no friend of mine,” the shifter muttered harshly.

Rowan glanced up sharply. She had no idea what was going on between the three of them and at the moment didn’t give two shits if they were enemies or best friends. She glared at Mohawk man—or Nico as Priest had called him—took in the scowl and disdain in his eyes, and let her anger boil over.

Something rose up inside Rowan—something fierce that she had no way of controlling, and truthfully, in that moment, she didn’t want to. It was a familiar, scary feeling, and judging by the wary look that crept into Hannah’s eyes, it was ready to explode.

A cold wind whipped along the ground hurtling dead leaves and sharp stones into the air. They flew at the newcomers, like bolts of lightning flung from the sky, and pushed the men back a few feet off the path that led to the house.

“Ah, guys, I’d move out of the way if I were you.” Hannah ran past them and up the steps to the house. “Looks like she’s about to blow, and it ain’t exactly pretty.”

Rowan’s eyes were fully black, and her hair swirled around her head, long ribbons of crimson that looked like blood against her pale skin. She tugged the hair from her eyes and spoke calmly though the ground rumbled beneath her feet, and the wind continued to push at them with great force.

She focused on the two men and, for one small moment, let a touch of the real power inside show through. It’s not something she’d done in years—tapped into that part of her that not even her Nana knew about. It felt wicked and hot and wrong and powerful all at once.

Priest’s eyes widened, while Nico remained stony, his eyes a glacial shade of winter.

“I’m going to tell you what I told Azaiel, so you’d better listen closely. This is my turf. My war. Got it?” The men’s gazes were long as they stared at her in silence.

The porch light flickered erratically, then went out.

“Shit.” Hannah’s hoarse whisper floated down from the porch. “Here we go.”

“I don’t care who you are or where you’ve come from. But if you want to stay—if you really want to help this situation because of some loyalty to my grandmother—I suggest you do two things.” Rowan moved forward, and by now Azaiel was leaning on her so much that she wasn’t sure she could make it up the steps.

“What’s that, witch?” Priest spoke quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice that seemed to alarm everyone except Azaiel—who was nearly passing out—and Rowan.