King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

She had no clue what he was. What he was capable of. What he’d done in the past.

Her eyes were luminous, huge jewels hung in a face so exquisite he knew he would never forget her. How could he? She was perfect. Just as she was. Right now. At this moment.

She stared up into his eyes, then slowly dropped her gaze to his mouth. Azaiel’s groin tightened even more, and he inhaled sharply as she moved closer. He needed to stop whatever the hell this was before it was too late.

“Move back,” he bit out.

“No.”

Anger boiled inside him. She was just a little girl playing a game she couldn’t win. He was Azaiel, one of the original Seraphim. There was no middle ground with him, and his passions ran hotter than she could handle.

“What game are you playing, Rowan?”

“I’m not playing a game.”

“This can’t happen,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I think it can.” Her eyes focused on his lips once more, and he thought he was going to go crazy.

“Your family is right inside—”

“I don’t want to talk about my mother or my crazy cousins.” She licked her lips, and they glistened, plump and ripe and inviting. “I don’t want to discuss the curse or Mallick or . . .”

“Kellen?” The man’s name on his tongue was bitter, and he scowled down at her.

Rowan’s hand crept up, and, when she touched his cheek, energy rolled over his tall frame in a wave of hot need. She stood on her tiptoes, and if Azaiel were smart, he would have disengaged himself from Rowan’s touch and stepped back. He would have put some distance and perspective between the two of them.

But Azaiel wasn’t smart. Or even in control. He was under a spell. Rowan’s spell.

And at the moment she was all that mattered.

“I especially don’t want to talk about Kellen.”

Her mouth was open, ready and wet. “I want to feel something other than the cloud of doom that’s been hovering above me my entire life. I want to feel alive.” Her hand slipped along his jaw and crept into his hair. “I want to feel something other than dread and fear and anger. I want passion, Azaiel.” She paused, the tip of her pink tongue edging out from between her teeth. “Can you do that for me?” She shuddered.

Move away. The thought roared through his mind.

Her body slid up along his hardness, and he knew she felt his arousal. In fact the little jezebel worked it, her softness rubbing against him provocatively. “Please?” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. “Just for this moment?”

Maybe he should give her a taste of just how much of a bastard he really was. That should put an end to her feminine games. Azaiel had always run hot. Where Askelon had been cautious, he’d jumped in without thought. It’s what had gotten him into trouble all those centuries ago. Mad passion combined with absolute power was not something he’d handled well.

He’d paid the price. He just wasn’t sure he’d learned the lesson.

“I think you could make me lose my mind,” she whispered.

Her lips were near his mouth, and her scent was driving him crazy. If Azaiel were a stronger man, he’d pull away. He’d tell the woman to leave him the fuck alone and concentrate on her problem.

His fingers slid up her face until he cradled her head between his hands. For several long moments he stared down at her, willing his body to relax. To obey him, not the witch.

When he had a handle on his emotions his thumb gently swept toward her mouth, and he sank into her warm wetness. It was time to teach Rowan a lesson better learned now than later.

Azaiel was no gentleman. He was not her knight in shining armor. He would kiss her until her knees buckled, and she was putty in his hands. He would make her want and rage with need.

And then he would leave her. And if she were smart, she’d never come to him looking for comfort again.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice rough, “that it’s time for you to stop talking.”

What the hell am I doing?