Azaiel grunted. “Don’t look away.”
And there beneath the warm, wet spray they watched each other in silence as they both shattered into a million pieces.
Later, when she was tucked inside Azaiel’s arms, deep within the softness of her blankets, she asked the one thing that had been on her mind for days.
“Tonight, if I’m not able to . . .” His arms tightened around her, and Rowan snuggled into the spot between this shoulder and neck. She tried again. “If I don’t defeat Mallick, you will make sure he never claims me.” She paused as the hurt inside filled her throat. At the thought of what might never be.
At the thought of what she wanted. “He can’t claim me,” she whispered.
Azaiel’s heart beat strong beneath her ear, and his warmth filled her soul. He kissed the top of her head. “He won’t. Of that, you can be assured.”
Hearing his words was like a salve to a wound. Rowan closed her eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep. She never knew when the Seraphim left her side, but hours later it was the small orange tabby who took his place, and it was the animal’s purring that kept her deep in dreamland.
Chapter 31
“I’m down to my last two cigars.”
Azaiel turned and spied Priest in the shadows. “Are you sharing?”
The Knight Templar handed him a crisp Montecristo, stood to the side, and offered a light. It was nearing dusk, and there were but hours before Rowan would summon Mallick. Time was running out, with each passing minute bringing them closer to a conclusion that was not assured.
Priest blew out a perfect circle of smoke and leaned on the railing beside Azaiel. “We need to confirm whether the demon lord knows about the League.”
Azaiel nodded.
“Do you have something in mind?” Priest asked.
“Nope.”
“Good to know. I’ve always enjoyed a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of operation. Makes it that much more exciting, no?”
Azaiel shrugged. “Is there any other kind?”
Priest laughed softly, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of their task. “We need to know. If the League has been breached . . .”
Azaiel straightened, letting the coffee-flavored taste of the cigar settle on his palate. “It is the reason we came.” He turned to the Templar. “Rowan should be filled in.”
The Templar studied him for a few moments before glancing out toward the subdued group of hunters gathered around Vicki’s RV. “She might be the only one with time to ask the questions that need to be asked.”
Priest’s eyes stayed on him for longer than he liked, and Azaiel looked away. His gut was churning in all sorts of directions, and he had no fucking clue what the night would bring. But he did know one thing.
In the space of a few weeks, Rowan James had insinuated herself into his life—into the air that he breathed for Christ sake—and he had no clue how he was going to say good-bye. After living for more time than he deserved. After his fall. After his imprisonment. After all of that, he’d finally found someone who meant more to him than his own life.
And for Rowan, his life was something he’d willingly give. And the thoughts that had been swirling in his head rose to the surface once more. Thoughts of a life with her. Of what it would mean. What it would entail.
“Thank bloody hell,” Priest muttered, and strode down the steps.
Azaiel’s head whipped up, and he frowned, following Priest down the steps as two forms fell from shadow. One was a small, round ball of a man and the other, a tall warrior with a powerful build and eyes as hard as steel.
“Cale.” Priest shook hands with the warrior, but it was the small man who walked forward and ran his hands over his bald head in a nervous gesture that Azaiel watched.
“Askelon.”
The small man shrugged. “I prefer Bill, if you don’t mind.” He smiled and shrugged. “At least while in this form.”
Azaiel nodded. “As you wish.”
“Where is she?” Bill asked quietly.