King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

“I’ve got to make a few phone calls.” Priest nodded. “See you back at the house.”

Azaiel ran his hands across the stubble on his jaw and stared down at Rowan. Nico’s words echoed in his brain, and he clenched his teeth.

The damn shifter was right. He wanted her. God help him, he wanted her in ways that were wrong. But he was the Fallen. He didn’t deserve someone as righteous and true as Rowan.

What the hell am I going to do about her? He needed to keep his perspective, or there was a very real chance he’d fuck things up.

Again.

Azaiel could not afford to let emotion rule his actions. He’d done that once and been burned badly.

“You’re looking pretty grim.” Her words were light, but he wasn’t fooled.

“Why are you here?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“It?”

“Yeah . . . it, treading into asshole territory.”

Azaiel watched as she took a deep breath and shivered. Warm mist flew from her nostrils, small clouds that dissipated in the early-morning cold.

“And we both know it’s all an act.”

“Rowan, go home and try to get some sleep. Let me deal with the grimoire.”

“You shouldn’t get to have all the fun. Take me with you.”

Azaiel’s scowl deepened. “Absolutely not.”

“But it’s my grimoire. My mess. My responsibility.”

“Are you out of your mind?” His voice was low and rough. “Mallick, the very demon lord who hunts you, resides down there.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, his mark is blind.”

He stared at her in disbelief. There was no reasoning with the witch. Rowan James had an answer for everything. She shivered again, this time violently, which wasn’t surprising as she wore nothing but a thin T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Swearing beneath his breath, Azaiel shrugged out of his leather jacket and placed it around her shoulders. It was much too big, but the sight of her drowning in his coat tore away another chunk of ice from inside him. From inside his heart.

She was dangerous, this woman, and if he let her, she’d unthaw the whole damn thing. And where would that leave him?

Totally fucking screwed.

He decided to try a different tactic. He smiled down at her as if things were just peachy; though from the wary look in her eyes, she wasn’t buying it. “We should head back to the house. It will be daylight soon.”

“I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

He motioned Rowan forward and fell into step beside her, matching his long strides to her smaller ones. “What exactly am I doing?”

“You’re trying to change the subject, and like I said, it won’t work.”

“Really,” he answered dryly.

She stopped suddenly and glared at him. “Yes, really.”

She pushed him in the chest, and he felt the burn of magick against his skin. It stung, yet did nothing but inflame his senses. Her chin jutted out, and that delectable mouth was so close he only had to bend slightly to claim it.