King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

Crimson energy surrounded the demon once more, but before it had a chance to replicate itself, its head was severed from behind. It was a clean swipe, and as the body tipped forward, Frank Talbot helped it down with a well-placed kick to the shoulders.

Hannah rolled over and coughed hoarsely, inhaling deep gulps of air as she slowly got to

her knees. For several long moments, the three of them stared at each other, their faces lit by eerie shadows—and then Hannah laughed. It was a full-bodied, near-hysterical giggle that was infectious.

Her cousin’s eyes were wide as she looked across the room at Rowan. “Holy fuck, but that kinda rocked.”

“Potty mouth banished?” Rowan asked.

“What?” Hannah made a face and grabbed her gun. “Like any addiction, it’ll take time to overcome.” She leapt to her feet, and, as she stepped over the body on the floor, the door to the bar crashed open, and Azaiel strode inside.

Hannah reacted instantly. She yanked Frank’s rifle from his hands and, before Rowan could stop her, aimed both weapons and fired.

Chapter 9

The bullets punched Azaiel in the left shoulder, and the force of the hit lifted him off his feet several inches. It took him backward into the wall, and for a moment he saw nothing but stars as he slid to the ground, pictures crashing around him. He lay there, senses dulled, body aching, and realized he was on his back, splayed out on the ground like a helpless child.

He grimaced and stifled a groan. Son of a bitch, but it hurt.

Azaiel took a moment, eyes closed, as he focused his energy on the wounds—and they were significant. What the hell kind of bullets had the witch used?

“Oh my God, Azaiel!” Rowan was at his side, and she sounded frantic.

Fingers ripped through cloth—cool air caressed his bare skin, and, judging by the gasp that escaped Rowan’s lips, he was guessing the wounds were as bad as he’d feared. It would take a lot longer than normal to heal, and time was not something they had a lot of.

Hands weaved their way across his chest, and he clenched his teeth as they gently touched his neck, his temple, and his jaw. Energy tingled along his flesh, awakening long-dormant emotions. The sensation left behind by her touch was exquisite—it had been millennia since he’d felt anything like it.

And yet, it was not the time to deal with a tangled mess of want, need, loss, and desire.

Rowan bent over him, once more dressing him in the heat of her body. He was so damn cold.

“Are you alive?” The whispered words blew across his cheek, slightly tremulous, wholly feminine.

Slowly his eyes opened, and he exhaled roughly as he tried to push her away. She was much too close and smelled too damn good.

“You’re hurt.” She was anxious and more than a little rattled judging by the flushed hue to her cheeks.

He grimaced and, refusing Rowan’s help, sat up with more than a little effort. He leaned against the wall, winded and in extreme pain. A harsh light entered his eyes as he glared up at her cousin, Hannah. “A couple of bullets will do that.”

“That ammo should have killed you.” Hannah was surprised. She stood beside Rowan—with Frank a few steps away—her spiky hair even more askew, her expressive eyes shiny with an adrenaline afterglow.

“Lucky for you they didn’t.” He glared at the blond witch and winced as Rowan ripped the rest of his shirt from his body.

Her fingers trailed along his collarbone as she studied the damage.

“You’re losing too much blood.” Rowan leaned forward, her head in the crook of his neck as she gingerly felt the back side of his shoulder. His first instinct was to push her away, but something about her touch held him still.

“There’s no exit wound. We have to get the bullets out.”

Azaiel inhaled sharply as her fingers poked at both of the ragged wounds, and he hissed. All right, the touching could stop.

“Sorry,” Rowan whispered. “I’ve never been good at this kind of thing.”

“I take it you’re not a nurse in your other life,” he said dryly as he shifted and eased a bit of the pressure.

Rowan shook her head and offered a half smile that in no way hid her anxiety. “No. Far from it. I’d rather fight a pack of nasty demons than deal with pain and blood.”

Her eyes hung like luminescent sapphires, all shiny and big, as if they held a host of secrets.