King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

He and Rowan moved with quick precision through the main lobby, dodging the flood of demons and inmates who roamed about crazily. It was like a scene from one of the horror movies that humans seemed to love so.

She made a quick turn to the right, slicing off the head of a demon as she went by, and disappeared down a dark corridor. The fire continued to rage over their heads, and the moans of pain and fear sounded vaguely familiar—raw and animalistic. It was the music of choice below, deep in the bowels of District Three.

They entered a long, dormitory-type area, with cells lining each side. Several of the cell doors hung wide open, and the small rooms were empty. Demons were everywhere and Rowan was like an avenging angel as she made her way toward each and every one of them, calling for her mother and slaying anything that stood in her path. The dumb bastards had no chance as they couldn’t see her, but a few of the demons sensed her presence just seconds before she separated head from shoulders.

Azaiel took the left side, and the two of them made quick work of it. They liberated poor souls still trapped as they made their way down the long rows, but when they reached the end, there was no sign of Rowan’s mother.

“She must be in one of the other buildings.” Rowan’s voice cracked, and he knew how hard it was for her to be there. To do this. Hell, less than a week earlier, she’d been playing the part of a normal human, safe and secure in her life on the West Coast. And now? Now she was an executioner, a demon-fighting queen with a master of darkness hard on her ass.

Her eyes met his then, and his breath caught in his chest. She was magnificent.

A small man darting through the chaos caught his eye, and he leapt forward, hands nearly crushing him as the small weasel tried to escape. He looked up, startled, eyes wide and arms flailing.

“Who’s there? What madness is this?” He was dressed for bed, his small, round body cloaked in red-and-gold brocade. One foot still wore a slipper while the other was bare, the fat, stubby toes pale in the dull light. The man coughed furiously, his body shaking as he tried to clear his lungs.

“Where is the James witch?” Azaiel growled, leaning forward and willing his face to bleed through the invisibility charm so that the little man could see exactly who held him.

The man stopped moving as his watery blue gaze stared into Azaiel’s features in astonishment. His energy shifted, and Azaiel realized he was fae. Dark fae . . . and the mention of the James witch filled the man with fear.

Interesting.

“Where is she?” Rowan moved in closer, and the man’s head whipped around crazily.

“Who are you?” he shouted into the darkness, while all around them demons continued to flood the room, searching for the same prize that Rowan so desperately sought.

“I’m going to be your worst nightmare if you don’t tell me where my mother is.” Rowan was inches from the man’s face, and though he couldn’t see her, his fear was palpable.

“Her line ended. The mark died out.” The whites of his eyes bulged, and a whimper fell from his lips. “We would never have taken her otherwise.”

“Her line has been remade.”

Rowan fell from shadow; for one brief moment, the small fae went limp in Azaiel’s hand.

“How can it be?” he whispered hoarsely. “I would know. Surely, Darrak would have . . .” A sob caught in his throat. “Sweet goddess, but you look so much like Marie-Noelle.” He paused, and something akin to fear crept into his eyes. “God help us.”

“News flash, buddy.” Rowan smiled harshly. “God isn’t here, and he sure as hell isn’t helping you, so listen closely. I will only ask one more time. Where is she?” Rowan held her bloodied and well-used sword aloft, and it seemed to Azaiel that she enjoyed the fae’s fear immensely.

“I knew it was a bad idea to take her. All those years ago. I knew this and now . . . now Mallick knows.” The little man gulped for air and coughed crazily as he struggled to breathe. “You must take her from here.” The smoke was thicker, and Azaiel knew they were nearly out of time.

“Where is she?”

“In the dungeon rooms on the other side of the island.”

Rowan raised her brow and sneered. “If she’s damaged in any way, I will rip your insides from your body and feed them to the blood demons who seek you.” She nodded. “Show us where the dungeons are.”

Azaiel tapped his com unit. “Priest? Nico?”

“Copy.” Priest’s voice sounded forced. “No luck here.”

“She’s in a dungeon on the far side of the island. We’ll get her and bring her to you. Keep the path to the boat clear.”

“Done.” A rush of static filled Azaiel’s ear. “I’d hurry it up, princess; looks like another boatload of baddies has landed. Human soldiers mixed with otherworld. We’ll keep them busy, but don’t take all night.”

Azaiel turned to Rowan. “Let’s go.”

He half carried, half pushed the small fae along, taking out several demons as they made their way from the burning building out into a night sky that was on fire.

Rain had started to fall, thick, cold sheets of it hitting his face like bullets. Already the fires that raged along the tops of the three main buildings were starting to wither though the heavy smoke still billowed upward.