King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

She paused inches from the tall stranger, who now stood blocking her path. “Move the fuck out of my way and show this man the respect he deserves. I don’t know much about him, but that’s a whole lot more than I know about either one of you.”

“The Fallen does not deserve such loyalty,” the shifter spit.

“Loyalty is earned,” she replied carefully. She thought of how he’d helped her clean up the evidence of Nana’s murder. Of the painful carving across his shoulders. Of how good he felt as she’d pressed against him on the Harley. “Azaiel has proved himself to me. Taken a bullet for Christ sake. That means something.”

She pushed past them, her anger fueling her forward so that she had no problem at all getting the large man beside her up the steps. With relief she saw Cedric in the entrance, his face full of worry. When he saw the condition of Azaiel, fear filled his eyes.

“We’re fine, Cedric.” Rowan nodded. “But we need Nana’s special healing herbs and some tools.”

“What happened to him, miss?” Cedric asked.

“I shot him with an extraextra special,” Hannah said sheepishly. “Twice.”

Cedric studied Azaiel closely. “Well now, it didn’t kill him outright, so that’s good.”

“Hurry, Cedric.”

“Of course, Miss Rowan. Where are you taking him?”

Frank had come inside and slipped his shoulder under Azaiel’s other arm. They both winced at the grunt of pain that fell from the tall Seraphim’s lips.

“He’s burning up,” Frank acknowledged, and Rowan shot a worried glance toward the bartender.

“Nana’s room.” It was the closest, and she didn’t think they’d be able to get him up the stairs.

She started forward, down the hall, but paused at the sound of booted feet on the porch. She cocked her head to the side.

“One more thing, boys. If either of you call me witch again, I will hex a part of you that neither of you wants hexed. Got it?” She nodded at Frank, and they started forward, the anger in her voice unmistakable.

“My name is Rowan, and you’d both be smart not to forget it.”

Priest stood on the porch and watched the witch drag Azaiel down the hall until they disappeared from view. He leaned against the railing and grabbed a cigar from his pocket without offering one to the Jaguar.

The wind continued to howl, carrying bits of debris and dead things into the air. The long fingers of sunlight were fast disappearing—evening came early at this time of the year, and he knew once nightfall descended the danger would triple.

A smile crept over his features as he lit the cigar. He was fine with that. As much as his life was a lonely existence—had been for centuries—he enjoyed the battle when it came his way. Of late, he’d been pretty fucking busy.

“It’s gonna be a long night.” Nico cracked his neck and stared off into the distance.

Priest let the sweet tobacco settle on his palate—the Montecristo’s unique blend of cocoa and coffee was something he’d never get tired of. It was a smooth taste of heaven, here amidst the drudgery found in the human realm.

He nodded but remained silent as wisps of smoke drifted in front of him. He’d never been a man of words, not even centuries earlier when he’d been made a Knight Templar. Priest had always been a man of action, and words seemed to get in the way.

He glanced at Nico. The shifter was new to the League, and they’d only just met. Only days earlier, Nico, Declan O’Hara, and the vampire, Ana DeLacrux had been key in keeping the Mark of Seven contained—for now—and his initial impression of the shifter was that of a man on the edge whose loyalties ran deep and whose strength was impressive.

But he was also dangerous and could prove volatile.

O’Hara and DeLacrux were on another assignment for Bill—something to do with the Mark of Seven—and when Cale had put out the call for extra bodies to help out in Salem, there were only he and Nico. Priest preferred working alone, but in this instance, he understood that numbers would count. He only hoped they had enough.

An owl hooted, an eerie cry that echoed into the coming dusk. Priest clenched the cigar between his teeth and spoke quietly. “Did you see the power that lives inside her?”

Nico squared his shoulders and nodded. “She isn’t your everyday witch, now is she?”

Priest pushed away from the railing and took the steps two at a time, his long legs eating up the distance to the black Suburban in seconds. “No.” He shook his head and opened the driver-side door. “She’s not. This complicates things.”

“What is she?”

“I don’t know, but you can bet your ass I’m going to find out.”