They turned toward the house. “But Seraphim, one suggestion?”
Azaiel paused, brow arched in question. He didn’t like the Templar’s tone.
Priest grinned widely and pushed past Azaiel. “A change in wardrobe might be a good idea. I don’t relish the thought of storming an otherworld asylum beside a man wearing Hello fucking Kitty on his T-shirt.”
Chapter 14
They arrived on the coast of Maine at nightfall.
A cold wind blew off the water, carrying with it a hint of darkness that immediately had everyone on edge. Overhead a moonless sky held up a bl
anket of diamondlike stars though their light was muted and did nothing to penetrate the inky black that hovered over them. Large swells of water broke against the shore, a melody Azaiel had not heard in eons, and though it was a crisp, cold, fall evening, there was something soothing about the sound that warmed his soul.
“Goddamn, it’s miserable out here.” Frank shivered and pulled his thick black sweater closer to his burly frame.
Nervous tension hung in the air—so thick you could cut your teeth on it—and Azaiel knew there was good reason for it. The otherworld asylum was well guarded with both protective spells and who knew what else. This was not an easy task.
Their plan was simple in theory. Gain access to the island and split into three teams. The locator spell had given them the island, but it wasn’t an exact science, and Rowan’s mother could be anywhere. Once her mother was located and extracted they’d fall back to their boat and head to the mainland, then to Salem, where several of the coven were due to arrive.
They’d decided to go ahead with the extraction and not wait for any members of the coven due in to Salem—time was their enemy, and the sooner they retrieved Rowan’s mother, the better. They’d left Cedric at The Black Cauldron, safe behind a heavily fortified protective wall that Hannah and Rowan had worked on for several hours. The charm should be enough to keep anything that didn’t belong out.
“There’s the boat.” Priest nodded toward the dock. He’d made a few inquiries and found someone willing to take them out to the island—but more importantly someone willing to wait for their return. Who knows what the hell they faced.
“Let’s go.” Rowan led the way, and several moments later their boots treaded soundlessly across a rickety dock until they stood before a tall man Priest addressed as Scar.
He was otherworld, there was no mistaking the scent of it, but exactly what he was remained a mystery. Priest hadn’t offered up that information, and no one had asked. It was enough that he’d been willing to get them to the island though apparently he owed Priest a favor. Judging by the scowl that settled on his craggy face, it most likely was the only reason he’d agreed to it.
Scar stared at them in silence for a few moments, eyes narrowed. Each of them had charmed guns strung across their shoulders, as well as daggers tucked into scabbards tied to their waists and boots.
“Time to do this.” Scar motioned toward the boat.
Azaiel waited until all were on board, then hopped over to land a few inches from Rowan. She’d been quiet since they’d located the island though he’d caught her eyes upon him a few times. Questions hung there and maybe . . . fear?
He thought of the mysterious Kellen, who most likely would be waiting for them when they got back. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that this Kellen meant something to Rowan.
His mouth tightened, and he looked away. He sure as hell didn’t like that he was thinking about her ex-lover when he should be preparing for what promised to be an intense mission.
Scar was aptly named—a jagged raw line ran from his temple down his cheek and disappeared beneath the edge of his coat. His expression sharpened as he settled in behind the wheel. “Hold on. These waters are rough, and I’m sure you can sense the ill wind that blows.”
Azaiel drew his jacket closer. The man was right. He didn’t like the feel of things out there and knew by the way Rowan kept biting her lip, she felt the same.
Silence fell between them all as the boat slowly moved away from the dock, and, once clear, Scar gunned the motor.
The ride was rough as they navigated their way through several islands. Some of them were nothing more than large rocks protruding from the water, while others were miles long and sported luxury hotels or private homes.
After nearly twenty minutes the boat slowed as thick fog rolled around them in waves of cool mist that swirled crazily, pushed along by the wind. There was no sound other than the motor, and Azaiel’s heart beat against his chest, a strong pounding that fed the adrenaline inside.
They were close. He felt it.
He glanced down at Rowan and, without thinking, his hand rose, his fingers dragging softly against her cheek. For one brief moment, she leaned into his touch, and something inside him unraveled, filling him with such intense emotion that it startled him, and he pulled back.
“Stick with me, and you’ll be fine,” he said roughly.
She cleared her throat and shot him a grin, answering cheekily. “More like the other way around, I think.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”