Wicked Road to Hel (League of Guardians 1)

Cale tossed a look her way. “He was not looking for a drink and you will give us privacy.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed but Declan nodded. “Just a couple of minutes,” he said quietly.

“I gotta grab some bottles from the stockroom.” Sarah glanced at the massive bouncer whose eyes were trained on the three of them from across the room. “Benny is a mean son of a bitch, just so you know.” She slipped under the bar. “I hope you’re gone when I get back.”

As soon as Sarah was out of earshot Declan jumped from his stool, stretched his long limbs, and faced Samael. “Why are you really here?” he asked pointedly. This was all wrong. He was the fucking demon of chaos, yet not an ounce of his madness could be felt.

He was behaving. Hell, his brand of nastiness had been stronger in the preceding days.

The demon studied him for several seconds before removing his glasses. The strange eyes that looked at him were focused, serious. “I will not let Lilith gather the mark of seven.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He glanced at Cale. “I’m willing to lay my ass on the line because I think it’s the right thing to do. The mark of seven is not written in stone. These kids should have a chance to prove their worth without being manipulated by either the underworld or the Seraphim.” He arched a brow. “You two, on the other hand, confuse me. Why is a demon lord holding hands with the Seraph?”

Declan watched Cale closely. The Seraph’s features remained stony, though he saw worry in his eyes.

“Answer me,” Declan said, “or I walk away and do this myself.” A whisper of darkness slithered along his body. It was a caress of power and Declan loved the feel of it. He kept his hands loose at his side and glared at the demon.

“Look at you,” Samael whispered as he twirled his empty glass along the bar top. “All take charge and no bullshit.” He cocked his head to the side. “I see why Lilith took a fondness to you. You’re so like your father, and according to my sources, she had her fill of him as well.”

The fuse that had been burning the edge of his brain all day erupted and Declan flew at the demon. His hand went around Samael’s neck before the demon had time to react.

In Declan’s mind, words flew forth—black words, charmed words—that threatened to unleash a fury upon the demon that would hurt. Samael said nothing, though the light that shone from behind his eyes warned of retaliation.

Declan grunted and pressed his fingers into the demon’s neck, hissing as a burn shot up his forearm. Skin moved beneath his fingers and he faltered.

Christ.

Too late he remembered the tattoo that marked the demon as lord and he cursed as intense pain ripped into his hand. The tattoo moved and Declan growled, spewing a torrent of foul words, his thoughts wild with the need to hurt.

He gathered as much strength as he could and just when he would have blasted Samael, he was pulled back and Cale stepped between the two of them.

The Seraph was furious. Beneath them the floor rumbled and a few screams echoed into the near-empty room. Declan turned away, his chest heaving, full of repressed rage.

“Pull yourself together.” Cale’s words were harsh. “Or I will end this now.”

Declan turned to Cale. “What is your connection to him?” He pointed to Samael and snarled, “I will not go back to that shithole until I know the truth.”

Samael growled and put his glasses back in place. He kinked his neck and let the tattoo settle once more upon his flesh. Long seconds of silence followed.

Declan was aware that many eyes rested upon them and he forced himself to be calm. He saw Asher leaning over the mezzanine, Benny near the door, and Sarah as she slowly made her way back.

Samael nodded to the woman as she slid behind the bar, her eyes wary and hands full. He helped himself to one of the bottles that she clutched, threw some more bills onto the bar, and turned to Declan and Cale.

A blond woman approached them, a werewolf, one of Ransome’s. She was all wild hair and large breasts, and sported an ass that was barely covered by the black leather skirt she wore.

She paid no attention to Cale or Declan and melted into Samael’s side, her hand immediately disappearing beneath his jacket.

“I suggest you adjust the sorcerer’s attitude. I’ll meet you at the Gate before midnight.” The demon shot a look of disgust his way before continuing in the ancient dialect of the Seraphim.

Declan glowered at them, hating that he had no clue what they were saying. The conversation was abrupt and he watched the demon melt into the darkness that clung to the edges of the club. The gawkers, mostly otherworld by this point, carried about their business as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“You care to explain the mumbo-jumbo?” Declan asked, his frustration evident in the tone of his words. “And maybe tell me why you’re getting into bed with the likes of him?”

Cale stared a

t Declan long and hard and then, decision made, spoke. “He is my brother.”

“Pardon me?” Declan was incredulous—no—more like confused as all hell.