“This is crazy, where is my nana?” She took a step forward.
“Cara is . . .” His voice trailed into silence as the windows began to shake, the panes rattling against an onslaught of wind and rain.
“She’s what?” Rowan’s eyes were huge as she stared up into a face devoid of emotion. There was a coldness there that was unsettling.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “She’s dead.”
The iron poker slipped from her fingers as she stared up at the stranger.
She heard the words but her brain wasn’t translating them. Rowan shook her head. “I don’t . . . that can’t be, I’d know . . .” She couldn’t articulate what was in her head. None of this made sense. Her eyes fell to the book on the bed, the reading glasses, and she felt something inside her break.
Nana.
In that moment she knew the truth, the pain and the guilt. It’s my fault. The whisper slid through her mind. I never should have left.
A low keening erupted, one that shot up several decibels within seconds until the window shattered. Glass blew everywhere and shredded the curtains into billowing tatters. They were long plumes of crimson silk that fluttered like crazed feathers in the wind.
Rowan winced at the sharp sting of shrapnel as it sliced into her arms and legs. Searing pain ripped across her cheek but she paid no mind. The wind pulled at her, whirling into the room with a hazy cloud of freezing mist that made it difficult to breathe.
The touch of his hand on her flesh pulled her from the darkness. The roaring dialed down and as she stared up at him, her lungs expanded and she was able to draw a shuddering breath.
“Who . . . who did this?” she rasped. She had no idea who the hell he was but in that moment she knew he meant her no harm. The darkness, the evil, wasn’t in this room. It was out there beyond the broken window.
“I think your answer is there.” His eyes were no longer gold, but solid, flat black, and the white of his teeth flashed through the gloom as he spoke. He pointed outside and Rowan turned to the window. Thunder and lightning had joined the chaotic dance of rain and wind. A bolt of energy streaked across the sky, illuminating the entire front yard in a sizzle of white.
It was a quick, precise hit, and gave just enough light for her to see seven hulking figures standing in the pouring rain.
Their scent reached her and she nearly gagged on the thickness of it. Demons.
Their eyes glowed red. Blood demons.
A weird calm settled over her. She’d come full circle, it seemed.
Rowan squared her shoulders and glanced up at the man beside her. “Who sent you?”
He was silent for a moment. “Someone who cared deeply for your grandmother.”
She felt her stomach twist. She didn’t like the stranger’s vague answer. If what he’d said was true, her nana was dead and outside seven blood demons called—his presence was no coincidence.
A guttural cry rent the night—a harsh echo that slid like nails against a chalkboard, and her hackles rose. She didn’t have time to worry about the details.
“I’m Rowan. What’s your name?” she asked as she grabbed the iron poker off the ground.
“Azaiel.”
She arched a brow. “Okay . . . that’s different.”
The demons began to howl in unison, their voices rising into a crescendo of noise and then it dropped suddenly until there was nothing. The silence was heavy. Eerie. It was the calm before the storm.
The tallest of the demons grunted and began walking toward them, a deadly machete trailing behind him. Another series of lightning strikes crashed across the sky and its ugly horned face split open into what she supposed was a grin.
“I’m sorry but it looks like things are about to get nasty,” she whispered, her gaze focused upon the gathering outside, “but then again with a name like that, I suppose you’ve not forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?” he asked, moving beside her.
Rowan whispered, “What it feels like to get your ass kicked.”
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