King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

“No.”

He turned to her, and lucky for the little witch he was able to clamp down on his anger. “You will do as I say and not question my authority.”

Rowan hopped down the steps, grabbed an impressive-looking gun from her cousin, and started toward the far end of the now-empty parking lot, to where he’d parked the bike. “First off, Tarzan, you’re not the boss of me.”

In two long strides Azaiel was beside her. “You will listen to me. Out in the open you’re a sitting target.”

“That’s a lame-ass excuse, and you know it.” They were beside the bike now. “The demon can’t see me, Azaiel, remember?” She pointed to her neck. “The eye is closed. It makes more sense for me to ride back with you, so that when the bastard goes for Hannah, I can take him out.”

She thrust her chin out as if daring him to take her on. The little witch was itching for a fight, and if he had the time, it would give him great pleasure to show her exactly how things were going to work.

“This is my turf, Azaiel. Mine.” She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t ask for your help. Hell, I’m not even sure that I trust you one hundred percent, but if you’re determined to stick around”—she heaved an exasperated sigh—“if I let you stick around, you need to remember that I call the shots. Got it?” She jerked her head toward the idling truck. “They take orders from me, not you. Do you really want another shot of extraextra special? Huh?” Her eyes flashed with a dangerous glow. “ ’Cause next time, you might end up with a couple of bullets in the ass instead of the shoulder.”

Azaiel had had enough. “We’ll finish this conversation when we reach Salem.”

The air around him shimmered, and the ground at their feet shook as several large cracks split the concrete around them. He would lay things out for the witch, nice and simple-like, just not right now. There was no time. The remaining Replicatus was nearby.

He tossed her a don’t fuck with me look and straddled the bike, the pain in his shoulder, the nausea, long forgotten as a wave of anger rolled over him. He nodded, a quick jerk of his head. “Get on.”

She opened her mouth, but something in his eyes must have conveyed the danger in that action because she didn’t say a word and, instead, jumped on behind him. She signaled for Frank to move out, and Azaiel followed though he kept a good distance behind. Hopefully when the demon showed itself they’d have a good vantage point to take the damn thing out.

The streets of Ipswich were strangely silent, and it seemed as if they were the only souls on the road. Thick, cold, gray mist covered everything, its long spidery fingers slithering along the ground like tentacles . . . tasting, searching.

Azaiel’s skin was flush with sweat, and he gritted his teeth, fighting the nausea that still bothered him. Extraextra special my ass, he thought. Didn’t even come close. At the moment it felt like he’d been hit with Thor’s hammer.

The truck turned left and as Azaiel approached the turn, the Replicatus demon swooped in from the shadows above and hovered overtop the Chevy. Rowan raised herself behind him, using her legs to steady herself as she aimed the rifle toward it.

He kept the bike steady, watching as the demon’s robes began to bubble, and he knew they had seconds until the damn thing replicated itself, which would make the whole exercise much more dangerous.

His eyes widened as Hannah slid halfway out the window, motioning toward the demon—taunting it—and as he approached rapidly from behind, he saw that she was giving it the one-finger salute that was widely used in the human realm.

The demon’s mouth opened wide, and it bellowed, its focus only on Hannah. It never saw the shot. Rowan’s hand gripped his shoulder after she let two rounds go, and for a second the bike skittered out of control.

The demon roared as they hurtled down the road, its safety net shattered, its anger unparalleled. It lunged toward Hannah, but she was ready and with one well-played swipe of a long, deadly saber, she separated the head from the body.

Azaiel watched the head roll off to the side as the body exploded into a mess of demon roadkill. Within seconds, it would turn to ash.

He gripped the handlebars, fingers so tight they cramped, and clenched his mouth tightly as the taste of cloves intensified. He would hold on, but damn, it was going to test his strength.

As the bike sped through the late afternoon, behind them the strange cloud that had hovered over Ipswich and beyond slowly evaporated, leaving all as it had been.

Chapter 10

They pulled into The Black Cauldron about forty-five minutes later. Driving through Salem had been a chore. Traffic was thick, hordes of tourists littered the sidewalks, and a general sense of chaos prevailed. It wasn’t in-your-face but had a more subtle vibe—hidden in the smiles, shouts, and overanimated actions of many of the townspeople as well as the tourists.

There was nothing natural about the atmosphere in Salem, and Rowan knew it signaled that the game had changed. Demons were close by—their presence was enough to ramp up the darkness that lingered in the air like a seductive whisper.

And it was the whispers that humans found hard to resist.

Have another drink and make sure you drive home, no one will get hurt.

T

ake the woman up on her offer, your wife won’t know.

Why should you pay for this? You deserve something for free.

Things were happening much quicker than she’d anticipated. The sooner the coven was gathered the better. And then there was her mother to deal with.