“I’m here.”
All four men glanced toward the porch, and Azaiel’s chest tightened as his gaze fell upon Rowan. Her pale beauty transcended the darkness that was fast approaching. Dressed in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, she did not look like the fierce demon-hunting witch that she was. Her blue eyes were on Azaiel, but it was Bill that she addressed as she slowly joined them on the grass.
“Been a long time, Mr. Bill.”
The Seraphim nodded, his voice subdued. “I’m so very sorry to hear about Cara. You must know she meant a lot to me.” He gestured toward Cale and Priest. “To all of us.”
Rowan nodded. Azaiel saw the pain in her eyes. The slight tremble of her lips. But he also saw the strength that resided there—the determination and focus.
“I’ve brought you something.” Bill nodded toward Cale, and the warrior stepped forward.
Cale held his hand out. The air misted and swirled along his skin, and seconds later he held a large sword in his grip, its rune-filled blade shining with a dangerous glint. The sword of Gideon.
Azaiel nodded toward Bill, grateful that he’d come through, and he watched as Rowan approached Cale. She hesitated for a moment, then lifted the sword into her hands, sweeping the air in an arc as she tested the blade.
“Mother-trucker! That looks like the freaking blade of Gryffindor!” Hannah jumped between them all, her eyes wide.
“The what?” Nico scowled as he joined her.
Hannah’s blond head whipped around. “Um, dude . . . Harry Potter?”
The jaguar’s scowled deepened, but he remained silent as Rowan stared at the majestic weapon. She arched a brow at Priest. “You’ve got some pretty heavy-duty connections, my friend.”
Priest nodded, the cigar held tight between his teeth, and patted Cale on the back. “You sticking around for this one??
?
Cale shook his head. The tall, dark-haired warrior grimaced. “Unfortunately not this time, though I’d give anything to kick that son of a bitch’s ass.” Cale’s steely gaze rested on Rowan. “Good luck. He’s a formidable opponent, but his fatal flaw is arrogance. Play on that.” He then glanced at Bill. “We should go. I feel him lingering out there searching for her.”
Bill nodded. “Of course. One minute please.” He gestured, and Rowan bent forward, so that he was able to whisper into her ear, his small chubby hand closed over her own. Rowan nodded in response to whatever it was Bill imparted and hugged the small man fiercely. Azaiel heard her whisper, “Thank you.”
Bill cleared his throat and crossed to Azaiel. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
Azaiel fell in step with his brother, and they stopped just beyond the large oak tree, where dusk seemed heavier, and the coolness of twilight was sharp.
“She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” Bill gazed into the darkness, his voice subdued.
Azaiel nodded but remained silent. What was there to say?
“This coming war will test all of us, my friend. We’ll be asked to do things . . . hard things.”
“Askelon, I know what needs to be done. If she can’t defeat Mallick, I will send her to the gray realm.” His words were bitter and left him empty inside.
Bill turned to him, and Azaiel saw pain reflected in his eyes. “She’s so like Cara, and her mother, Marie-Noelle.” Bill’s eyes narrowed slightly, and something shifted in his face. “She’s come to mean a lot to you.”
Azaiel rotated his neck slowly in an effort to loosen up the tense muscles along his shoulders. “She is one hell of a woman,” he admitted softly.
“You cannot have her, Azaiel. Not as long as you are Seraphim.”
There it was. Spelled out in black-and-white. “I know.”
Bill held his gaze for several, long moments, then looked behind. “I must go before my presence here is felt, but know this.” The small man grasped Azaiel’s hands together. “I never lost faith in you. I am proud to call you brother.”
Azaiel’s eyes welled as Bill stepped away. He remained tight-lipped, not trusting himself to speak, and watched his brother, his mentor—his savior—retreat into the darkness, with Cale close on his heels.
“The veil is thinning. It’s nearly time.” Rowan’s eyes were full of questions.
Azaiel glanced toward Priest. The Knight Templar clenched his cigar, nodded, and turned away, barking orders and taking charge.