King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

It hit him then. She cared. About him.

Azaiel didn’t know how to react and stiffened as she paused in front of him. She bit her lip and had to stand on tiptoe as she carefully inspected the wounds on his shoulder. Again, her scent filled his nostrils, and he tensed, bending his head back as if he hated her touch. It was in fact quite the opposite though he didn’t miss the slight tensing of her mouth or the shadows that crept into her eyes.

“They look good.” She nodded and glanced up.

“Thanks to you they’re healing well.”

She shrugged. “It’s my Nana. Her herbs and poultices are legendary.”

For a few moments there was no one but Rowan, and everything faded to gray except the two of them. It was like a physical tether had woven them together. The connection was that instant. That intense.

He drank in her pale features, and his hand rose to her cheek. The wound from the day before had already faded, thanks to her healing magick no doubt, but there was a new bruise along her jaw that traveled nearly to her ear. It was a mottled purple mess that brought anger to him.

She winced as his fingers ran over it and stepped away, clearly rattled.

“Who touched you?” he asked flatly, not liking the fact that someone had done so with a violent hand. Some protector he was, laid out flat on his back, as sick as a newborn. The thought fed his rage, but he knew better than to place the blame anywhere other than where it belonged.

Firmly on his shoulders. If he’d been stronger, this wouldn’t have happened.

She licked her lips and ran fingers along her temple, her brow furling into a frown. “I’m not sure. It was something I’ve never encountered before. I can’t even tell you if it was male or female or animal. There were layers to it that kept shifting, and it was a fast, slippery thing.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think it was surprised that I saw it.” She sighed. “I guess it was a demon of some sort, and I’m pissed that it got away.”

Azaiel watched her carefully. “From what I understand, it was you who got away.”

Rowan glanced toward Priest and Nico, cheeks coloring slightly as if just realizing they weren’t alone. When she finally spoke, she was all business. “You boys are up early.”

“I don’t sleep much,” Nico answered tersely.

She arched a delicate brow at his ill-concealed hostility. “From the look on your sourpuss face I would have guessed you got up on the wrong side of the bed.” She smiled then, a sweet, fake grin, and Azaiel stepped back, enjoying the show. “It might do you good to get some shut-eye.” She shrugged. “Salem isn’t for everyone, and I’ll be honest, shifter.” She paused, brow arched. “That is, if you want me to.”

Nico’s stony countenance was near comical. With clenched fists at his side, he growled. “I’m a big boy. There’s no need to hold back.”

Rowan nodded and took a step toward him. “I don’t like you.”

Surprise narrowed Nico’s eyes, and Azaiel didn’t think the shifter had expected such brutal honesty.

“Your attitude sucks. I don’t know what your problem is with Azaiel and frankly, I don’t care to. None of your private shit concerns me.” She jerked her head toward the road. “Salem, the people that live here . . . my family . . . they concern me. The fact that I’ve got a deranged demon gunning for my ass.” She glanced at all of them. “That concerns me. So check the ego and learn to get along because if you can’t, Nico”—her eyes flashed as she emphasized his name—“maybe you should leave.”

Priest tucked the remnants of his cigar into his pocket. “We’re not going anywhere.”

A subtle shift in energy flew from Rowan. It was a quick, silent attack that no one but Azaiel noticed. Rowan turned to the tall Knight Templar and glared at him. “Then I suggest you keep your overgrown kitty on a tight leash and discuss the consequence of his bad attitude.”

For the first time in ages a genuine smile parted Azaiel’s lips. The look on Nico’s face was thunderous, the veins in his neck strained with the need to vocalize his displeasure, and yet he stood, glaring at the witch in silence.

He couldn’t speak. Azaiel’s grin widened even more.

“Or I will personally kick his ass all over Salem and back.” She shifted her gaze toward Nico. “I told you last night. This is my war, and I’m calling the shots. There’s only room for one alpha in this pack, and it sure as hell isn’t any of you. I’ll accept your help because I’m not stupid. The shit is about to hit, and it’s going to hit hard.” She gestured toward all of them. “Know this, gentlemen. If any of you get in my face, I’ll not hesitate to rethink our arrangement.” Her voice lowered then, a hint of menace in the tone that drew Azaiel’s attention. “And don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t back up my words with action.” She flicked her wrist, and Nico choked, curses flying from his mouth as he clutched his throat.

Seemed to Azaiel the little witch had wasted no time reconnecting with her powers. He was impressed. The woman was nothing like the one he’d first encountered nearly forty-eight hours earlier, and it was good a thing. She’d need a tough skin to get through what was headed their way.

Rowan rotated her head and glanced at Azaiel. “You must be hungry.” Gone was the warmth that he’d seen earlier—her dark blue eyes were hooded, and the garish bruise along her cheek more pronounced. He nodded, surprised at the pangs of hunger that sat low in his stomach.

“Let’s eat. We’ve got lots to get done before nightfall.”

Chapter 12

Azaiel stared down at the orange tabby and frowned. The damn thing wouldn’t leave him alone, and he’d tossed it from his lap several times already. He’d been gentle—the little cat was obviously pregnant—but still, there was something unsettling in its long, slow blinks as it stared up at him. It looked almost . . . human in its regard and made him uncomfortable.

“I think she likes you.”