He meant every single word he’d just uttered.
“Is that a promise?”
How long the two of them stood there, staring at each other, feeding off the sexually charged silence was anyone’s guess. It wasn’t until Hannah spoke that they knew they weren’t alone.
“Um, guys? The burgers and dogs are ready. We should eat and head out. With all this cloud cover, nightfall is coming early.”
Azaiel glanced up, his expression fierce. Hannah’s mouth hung open, her lips pursed into an “O.” Her eyes widened, and when he scowled at her she nearly tripped over her feet in an effort to flee.
Rowan waited until the door closed behind her cousin. “My hand?”
“What?” he said gruffly.
Her eyebrows rose, and Azaiel let go. He took a step back and cursed under his breath, pissed at himself for losing control.
“Are you afraid of me, Azaiel?”
“Is that what you think? That a little slip of velvet and cream has me shivering in my boots?” His eyes darkened, and the air around him thickened. He grabbed his T-shirt off the countertop, and when he spoke again his voice held a hint of steel. “If you were smart, you’d run the other way, Rowan.”
She looked him straight in the eye, in that direct way he’d come to appreciate. She paused, licked her lips, and said so softly he barely heard her, “I’m done running.”
Azaiel watched Rowan follow her cousin from the house, and he let out a long, tortured breath when the door banged shut. An ache tightened inside his chest, and he knew it had nothing to do with the beating he’d taken. He stood alone, wondering what the hell it would feel like to call a woman like Rowan, his.
You can’t have her either.
Nico’s words echoed in his head, and the ache tightened more. If only . . . Yeah, Azaiel pushed such nonsense from his mind and headed outside. Happy-ever-afters didn’t belong to him. The Fallen.
Rain started an hour after they’d dispatched teams into town. It came down in thick sheets that cut like ice and stung when it hit. Azaiel pulled the collar of his jacket up closer around his neck and blew out hot clouds of mist as he gazed upon the near-empty streets. It was damp, cold, and miserable.
What day was it? He had no clue. While he and Kellen had been in t
he Hell realm, at least three full days had passed up here.
“Guess the demons hate the rain as much as we do.” Rowan walked at his side, and he grunted in answer. So far they’d not encountered any otherworld creatures other than a pack of drunken goblins, and they’d fled as soon as they’d seen Azaiel. “Want a hot drink?”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer, so he followed her as she crossed the street and headed toward a quaint shop, The Coffee Bean. He spotted a few patrons inside as well as a man behind the counter and a woman serving tables.
He paused and glanced around. It was quiet. He supposed they could take advantage of the lull because it wouldn’t last long. It never did.
He followed Rowan inside and shook off the wet, his eyes taking in everything as he did so. To his left a young couple held hands, sharing an awfully large mug of hot, steaming liquid as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Lust hung between them, mingling with the sweet hazelnut they enjoyed. He gave them ten minutes at most before they fled, off in search of a dark, quiet place in which to act out their fantasies.
The male was stroking his lady’s hand, tugging her closer. Lucky bastard.
A group of elderly men sat in the far corner, chatting animatedly about the rash of violence and what they feared would happen in the coming days leading up to Halloween and the Witches Ball. They were the only other patrons in the coffee shop, and Azaiel grabbed the booth nearest the door—the one that gave him a view of the entire room—as Rowan ordered their coffee.
She slid in across from him and set two mugs on the table.
He took a sip and leaned back, welcoming the silence and the simplicity of the place. It was clean, not overly bright, and in a town that was teetering on the edge of crazy, The Coffee Bean was a slice of much-welcomed normal.
“So.” Rowan’s eyes stared at him expectantly.
He was wary. Didn’t like the look in her eyes. They’d danced around each other for the last few hours, and he was tense. His shoulders were as tight and sore as the wound next to his heart. Never had a woman gotten him so tangled up. Not even her. The betrayer.
“So,” he repeated, deciding a different approach was in order. “Good call, the coffee’s great.”
“What’s your story?”
So much for aimless conversation—didn’t seem like a different approach was going to work. “Excuse me?” Azaiel watched Rowan’s long fingers as they grasped the cup between her hands. She leaned forward and took a sip before wiping the corner of her mouth.