“Don’t ask for something you can’t handle, Rowan.”
She stared up at him, the teasing manner gone, leaving only a serious glint in her eye. “What happened to you, Azaiel?”
Azaiel ignored her and glanced down the alley once more. For several seconds only the harsh echo of silence was between them, and the anger that stirred within his gut churned harder, faster. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth,” she answered simply.
He glanced back toward her and shook his head. “You wouldn’t be able to handle my truth. It’s
not pretty.”
“Nothing’s pretty, Azaiel. Not even the shiniest, most brilliant diamond. There will be imperfections. Cracks and irregularities. At the heart of everything there is darkness. It’s what you choose to do with that darkness that matters.”
“You would find good in me?”
She blinked slowly and took a moment to answer. “I would.”
“Why?” he asked, not so much to carry on the conversation, but because he was truly curious. In those few precious seconds, he studied her heart-shaped face intently and knew he’d never meet another woman like her, in any plane of existence.
“Because . . .”
A shadow moved, just beyond the halo of gold cast by the streetlight on the corner of Finch and Murphy, and Azaiel held up his hand, silencing her answer. Which was probably for the best.
Dark wisps of smoke twirled faster until they converged into a form that was definitely a . . .
“Sand demon,” Rowan whispered.
He nodded but remained silent as he watched it solidify. They were nasty creatures, bottom feeders yes but dangerous all the same. Once a victim was scented and lured into their embrace they struck quickly, sucking in the body whole, like quicksand. It was a fast death, yes, but extremely painful.
A human body was literally sliced apart by thousands of razor-sharp teeth that lined the sand demon’s large mouth and gullet. Of course, once spit out into District One—the main processing center in Hell—it would be put back together. Lilith needed bodies that worked down there though most captured by sand demons wouldn’t come close to resembling their former human form. They’d spend the rest of eternity looking like a haphazard mishmash of body parts.
“There are three more,” Rowan whispered urgently, her smaller frame moving forward as she tried to maneuver past him. She was all business now, and he held out his arm to stop her.
“There’s a couple walking toward them.” Rowan’s urgent whisper was punctuated by a tug on his arm.
Azaiel glared at her, irritated. “If you don’t shut your mouth, the damn things will get away before we have a chance to kill them.”
“Don’t be so grumpy,” she shot back.
For the hundredth time he cursed Priest’s insistence that he patrol with Rowan, yet there’d been no choice. At least one of the League had to stay close to Rowan. Just in case.
His gut tightened.
Just in case Mallick himself showed. There was no way they could let the demon lord anywhere near Rowan. If he managed to get his slimy hands on her, the game would change yet again.
And it could cost Rowan James her life.
“Azaiel, we need to move out.” She was much too close to him, and he moved away, wanting only distance and peace.
“Wait for my signal,” he growled.
“Who said you were in charge?”
There was the attitude he’d been waiting for. He needed her to focus on the danger at hand. His arm shot out, and he gripped her tightly, turning so that she felt the full extent of his anger. He was done playing her game. Done with her fantasy imaginings. What was the point?
“I am in charge,” he growled. “This isn’t a game, witch. You may think you’re the alpha in this whole mess”—her cheeks reddened at his comment—“but make no mistake, you’re just a little girl in over her head. If you want to survive this . . . if you want your family, your lover”—he ground out the words—“to survive this, then you’d better learn to take orders and listen the fuck to me.” Azaiel bent low until his breath warmed her cheeks. “Are we clear on this?”
She yanked her hand away. “Lover? What are you—”