King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

Azaiel watched her closely. “It is.”

Her forehead furled, and she bit her lip in that nervous way that she had. “Is there something else going on that I don’t know about? I mean, I’ve never really pushed the issue . . . asked the question.”

“What question is that, Rowan?”

She gazed up into his eyes, and his heart rolled over. “Who are you people? Really?”

He held out his hand. “I’ve some things to tell you before this night begins.”

Rowan put her small hand in his without hesitation, and that gesture alone was enough to undo him. Inside, Azaiel’s emotions twisted into a hard ball that settled at the back of his throat.

They walked until they found themselves in the back garden and paused there amongst the pumpkins and cornstalks and oak trees bare of leaves. Rowan slipped into his arms, and for the longest time he just held her. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, inhaled her scent, and reveled in her warmth.

After a while she moved, and reluctantly he released her, his dark thoughts reflected on his face.

“Just tell, me,” she said simply. “Everything.”

And so he did.

Azaiel told her of his origins. Of his fall from grace at the hands of the betrayer. He told her of his weakness—how he’d sculpted a dangerous portal for Toniella, one that would have ripped apart the upper and lower realms. He shared his subsequent banishment to the Hell realm and told her of his escape. How he used an eagle shifter, Skye Knightly . . . how his vengeance nearly ripped the world apart, again.

He told Rowan how Cormac O’Hara had tortured and maimed him in a bid to find the portal, yet he’d taken everything and more because he deserved it. He was the Fallen. He didn’t deserve his brother’s, Bill’s, devotion, but he’d vowed he would do whatever it took to help Bill, and yet now . . .

“Now?” she prompted gently.

Azaiel ran fingers through the thick hair atop his head. “Now I don’t know if I have the strength to do what needs to be done.” His breaths fell erratically. “Mallick cannot be allowed to claim you.”

“I’m totally fine with that.”

His eyes pierced hers. “You know what that means?”

She nodded but didn’t answer for several seconds. “I would sacrifice myself before I let that bastard get his hands on me, and I will trust you to do the deed if the time comes. He killed my grandmother.”

Azaiel cursed and shook his head. “That we’re not one hundred percent sure of.”

“What?” Rowan flew at him. Pumped her fists against his chest. “How can you say that? Who else would want to hurt Cara?”

A long, shuddering breath escaped him. “We don’t know.”

“We?” Rowan frowned and moved away, though her eyes never left his. “Go on.”

“Cara was part of a group that watched from the shadows, working to preserve the balance between the realms.”

She arched a brow. “You, Priest, and the others are part of this group?”

Azaiel nodded.

“Well, how come I’ve never heard of it?”

“The group is secretive, with members mixing on a need-to-know basis. There are those who dwell in the lower realms, the upper realms, and beyond. Both human and otherworld. I only know the identities of a handful for a reason. Our identities must be protected at all cost.”

“And yet you’ve just shared this with me.”

“Sometimes the rules must be bent. There are those who would seek to end us, so when one is murdered, it raises the question. Has the League been breached? Does someone know who we are?”

“You’re not convinced Mallick killed my Nana.”

“At this point we don’t know if he is in fact responsible for her death, and if he is . . . did he kill Cara because of you? Or her affiliation with the League.”