The woman’s sobs were heartbreaking, her small wails quieted by the whisperings of the man who held her. They cut through the gray morning like a blade through flesh, and it hurt to listen to her pain.
Azaiel couldn’t watch, and so he turned, his eyes wandering over the tops of the trees that lined the property. He wanted to look anywhere but up to that porch. Her pain reminded him too much of his own . . . of things lost and regrets that would never heal.
“Shit,” Hannah whispered as she ran past Azaiel toward the house.
“She doesn’t know.” Rowan’s voice was subdued. “About Nana.”
It said something, that Hannah and Cedric comforted Marie-Noelle while her own daughter watched from the shadows.
A light went on in the RV that tethered the donkey, and seconds later a petite brunette appeared. She pushed small, round glasses off the end of her nose and tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. A riot of shoulder-length curls framed an interesting face—wide forehead, small bow mouth, and large, expressive eyes.
“Terre.” Rowan took a step forward and halted. It was obvious she was unsure, and once more Azaiel was reminded that the family dynamics at play here were convoluted.
Terre stepped down and glanced toward the house, sniffling as she did so and wiping her nose with a Kleenex.
“You didn’t tell her?” Accusation rang in Terre’s voice, and something puffed up in Azaiel’s chest when he saw pain flicker across Rowan’s face.
“There hasn’t exactly been time for niceties,” he inserted as he took a step forward.
“Niceties?” Terre turned incredulous eyes his way. “Niceties? Are you kidding me?” She shook her head and looked at Rowan. “How could you not tell Auntie Marie that her own mother was dead?”
The woman at his side was silent, but the pain in her eyes was long gone and had been replaced with a coldness that didn’t belong. It sucked the warmth from her, turning the azure blue of her eyes into winter cold.
“She isn’t just dead, Terre. She was brutally murdered.” Rowan gestured toward the house. “In that kitchen with no one there to protect her.” Her voice trembled slightly. “She was slaughtered like an animal, and I don’t even have a body to hold. I don’t have anyone to say good-bye to.” She arched her brow. “Though they left behind a lot of blood in case you were wondering. I should know, I had to clean it up.” She cocked her head and smiled, cruelly. “Nana meant more to me than anything else in this world. Do you understand what that means? Did you really think I was going to discuss her murder on a ride back from the insane asylum?” She clenched her hands, and the ground beneath his feet shifted. “With the woman who gave up on all of us years ago?”
Terre’s chin went up, and Azaiel realized these women were not afraid of confrontation. In fact, it seemed as if they sought it out.
“I think,” Terre began carefully as she flexed her fingers and moved forward, “that you want your mother to hurt more than she already does.”
“You’re full of shit,” Rowan said stiffly.
“Am I?”
The ground quaked some more, while overhead, clouds erupted with flashes of energy. Azaiel heard rumblings from Priest, and Nico swore. He stepped between the two women, hoping like hell neither one made a move that would burn his ass.
“I don’t think now’s a good time to point fingers,” Azaiel said as he glanced from Rowan to Terre. “Especially fingers juiced up with witch mojo.”
“And you are?” Terre bit out.
“A friend,” he answered softly.
Her eyes narrowed, but she backed away from Rowan.
A second woman emerged from the remaining RV and strolled over in a T-shirt that barely covered her ass. Long, trim legs moved gracefully as bare feet picked their way over the cold earth. DIXIE CHICK was emblazoned across her chest, the large, silvery letters doing a lot to enhance her generous . . . assets.
She rubbed sleep from her eyes, stretched her arms above her chest, and Azaiel actually held his breath, wondering if the woman was clothed beneath her T-shirt, only dragging his gaze from the tops of her thighs when Rowan cursed. The woman tossed a headful of long dark hair over her shoulder—one of which was bare, showing a lot of creamy skin.
Rowan exhaled and stepped away. “Vicki, I’m not in the mood for the two of you to tag team the whole blame thing on me.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Vicki shot a dark look at Terre. “I’m sure my sister has more than enough guilt and blame to throw around for all of us. It’s what she does.” The woma
n turned his way and made no effort to hide the interest that widened her eyes to large ice blue jewels. She held out her hand and, after a pause Azaiel offered his own.
“A name would be good,” she purred.
“Oh for God’s sake, Vicki. His name is Azaiel, and for the duration of his stay in Salem, he’s off-limits.”
Azaiel glanced down at Rowan. Her hands were bunched, her face fierce. She nodded toward the RV. “And keep Leroy away from the rest of them or . . .”