King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

Azaiel nodded. “Fine with me.”

Priest agreed as well. “Whatever you need.”

“Good. I promise to be gentle.”

Priest’s eyes darkened. “Don’t be gentle on my account. I like it a little rough.”

“That, I don’t doubt.” She tried to be sarcastic but failed miserably. There was something about the tall man that made her nervous. An edge that was raw and secrets that were painful. How could you be flip with someone like that?

Azaiel remained silent, but she didn’t miss the narrowed eyes or the muscle that flexed across his jaw. She turned quickly, wanting out from under his gaze. He was a whole new can of worms entirely.

She glanced at the shifter. “You need to stay the hell out of the way. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She ignored Nico’s sarcasm and tried to ignore Azaiel, but he’d moved closer to the table, his brow furled in concentration as he studied the old map. His jeans hung way too low on his hips, the wide belt doing nothing but drawing the eye to the thin brush of hair that shadowed his taut lower belly and disappeared from sight.

Keep your eyes above the neck.

She gave herself a mental shake, and when he bent forward her eyes climbed higher until she settled upon the scars that graced the tops of his shoulders. Even though they looked painful, there was something striking about the way they cloaked Azaiel. The more she studied them, she realized they were not so much a reflection of violence but one of the power within him.

He cleared his throat, and she glanced into his eyes, startled and embarrassed that he’d caught her staring at him like a goofy teenager. All thought fled her mind, leaving only a blank canvas, and she blurted out the first thing that popped into her mind.

“It will take us a few minutes to prepare for the spell, so . . . now would be a good time to throw on some clothes.”

Priest snorted, and though Azaiel’s eyes darkened—the gold much diminished as black bled through—he gave her a look she couldn’t quite read.

“Sorry my state of undress offends, but at the moment, I have nothing to wear.”

She’d insulted him. She saw it in his eyes. “Azaiel, you don’t offend me, really. It’s just, well everyone else is . . .” She gestured toward Priest and Nico. “I just prefer . . .” Oh God, Rowan, shut the hell up and stop babbling. “I prefer you in clothes, that’s all.”

“You’re probably the only female in the county who would,” Hannah said in disbelief.

Rowan ignored her cousin and was thankful when Cedric intervened.

“Come with me.” Cedric nodded. “We’ve got a trunkful of clothes that have been left behind over the years. I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something.”

Azaiel’s eyes lingered for a moment too long, and she looked away, hating the flush that crept up her cheeks. He followed Cedric from the room, and Rowan didn’t know she was holding her breath until it escaped in a rush.

Hannah frowned and held up her hands. “Look at these.” The tips looked raw, and several small blisters were forming.

“Suck it up. That’s what happens when you don’t—”

“Respect the goddess,” Hannah finished. “I know, but sheesh, she doesn’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Rowan took the candles from Hannah as well as a small dagger that was no longer than the tip of her fingers to the edge of her wrist. The handle was delicate, an antique cream ivory that felt smooth in her hand. The shiny blade was charmed with several intricate etchings that darkened the silver and climbed up the hilt.

They were druid markings and held much power.

She put the dagger down and unwrapped the candles. They’d been stored in a plain beige-linen cloth that unraveled with ease. Carefully, she placed the candles at each corner of the map. They represented the four elements that she commanded and would tap into their power to fuel the spell.

The blue one in the east—water. The red one in the south—fire. The white one the north—air. And the green one to the west—earth.

When she was done, she accepted a bowl from Cedric—one that was older than anyone cared to remember—its clay facade was a faded copper color, with large, dull brown, spidery cracks lining the sides. She carefully set it in the middle of the map next to the dagger and blew out a strained breath.

Sunlight fell in from outside, spilling over the large kitchen table and showering the map in fingers of gold. It looked . . . beautiful. Nervous energy rolled through her body, and she brushed back a strand of hair that stuck to her sweaty neck. Her stomach felt queasy, but she gritted her teeth and tried her best to focus.

She couldn’t screw this