King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

“Thank you.” Rowan took a second, her hand lingering on Cedric’s forearm. “Are you feeling all right? Have you been resting?”

He shrugged. “I’m feeling as good as I can right now.” He nodded toward her Nana’s rooms. “Go, on. You all need to say some things. Figure some stuff out.”

She shook her head. “I know. It’s just sometimes the doing is harder than the figuring out.”

He smiled and gripped her a little tighter. “You’ll be fine, Rowan. She is your blood.” His eyes misted. “She is Miss Cara’s baby girl, she’s just not as strong as you.” He squeezed her hand. “You remember that, now.”

Rowan stared into his dark eyes for a few moments longer, then moved past him. She ignored Azaiel, the same way she’d ignored him the entire ride home. It was the only way she could function. The images . . . the sensations—they were too much. Too intense. Too wrong.

The small tabby appeared from nowhere and jumped onto the counter near the Seraphim. Its little body shook from the ferocity of its purring, and it butted its small head on his hip. Behind him the clock glowed 2:30, and soon the others would be back.

Her brother stood with arms crossed, a fierce look on his handsome face. She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

She moved toward Nana’s rooms, paused with her hand on the door, and pushed it open.

Her mother glanced up from the bed, her fingers clutching the worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird to her chest. Beside her, standing guard, was the gargoyle. The huge creature looked fierce, and his size only made her mother appear that much more fragile.

Rowan had pretty much had it with the kid-glove treatment. It was time for her mother to grow up, something that was way past due.

“She loved this book.” Marie-Noelle’s voice was like sandpaper, rough and dry, and she spoke haltingly as if searching her mind for the right words. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I had so much to say to her.” Her mother glanced up. “I guess it’s too late for sorry, now.”

Rowan moved closer. “It was too late years ago.”

Her mother flinched at the harsh tone, but Rowan couldn’t help it. There were no warm fuzzies hiding in her heart. There was only anger, resentment, and the need for someone to pay. Kellen had asked her to be merciful. To forgive. She felt the weight of his gaze, but she couldn’t do what he wanted.

There was too much pain.

Marie-Noelle stood, her shoulders hunched, her small frame almost folded in on itself. She looked pathetic, and Rowan watched as Mikhail moved closer to her, his arm at the ready in case she needed assistance.

Her mother waved him away and walked toward Rowan and Kellen, her steps little more than a shuffle. Her eyes were alive with a feverish glint that could have been her sanity leaving her or the effect of the drugs Cedric had given her to calm her nerves.

Rowan was hoping for the drugs. “Do you know why you’re here?” Rowan asked.

Marie-Noelle gazed at the two of them as if she hadn’t heard the question. “You’ve both grown so much.” Pain shadowed her face, and she looked much older than her years. “Oh God, I’ve missed so much.” Her voice broke. “I’d give anything to get it back.”

“Mom, it’s okay. Take your time.” Kellen spoke gently, and Rowan just about pulled the pin.

“Seriously, Kellen? She’s not a child, so stop treating her like one. I’m so sick of everyone walking on eggshells around her.” She glared at her mother. “This isn’t about you, and for the record, I don’t give a flying fuck about your guilt.”

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“Ro!” Kellen admonished.

She turned to her brother. “No, I’m done. I’m not playing this family-reunion game. This is bullshit. There are lives on the line.” She whirled back to her mother. “Lives that have been lost including the only mother I knew.”

Rowan’s chest burned. Her limbs trembled, and the energy inside her body tripled. The floor shook, several large planks of oak split up the middle, and a series of family pictures on the wall crashed to the ground.

Marie-Noelle flinched, and when Mikhail would have moved forward, Rowan’s hand shot out, and she stopped the gargoyle. “This is our business. Not yours.”

Rowan’s anger filled her throat, and for a few seconds she couldn’t speak—could barely breathe.

“I won’t let you hurt her,” Mikhail managed to get out.

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” she spit out. The darkness inside her pulsed with a heavy, hot hand, and she closed her eyes, struggling for control. The gargoyle growled and managed to put one foot forward, but Rowan’s hand shot up, and the creature was held in an invisible, iron grip.

“Rowan, calm down,” Kellen said into her ear. He was at her side now, his hand on her shoulder, and she was aware that the door had opened. Azaiel now stood on her other side, and when he touched her hand, when that connection was made, she felt the darkness fade, and eventually she got a handle on her emotions.

Azaiel grounded her.