King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

Rowan just hoped Marie-Noelle’s mind wasn’t so far gone that she’d be useless.

Azaiel nodded toward the door. “Let’s go do it then. There’s no point in just talking about it.” A frosty smile crossed his features. “I’ll even put a shirt on for you.”

“If you must,” she replied with equal coolness. “We’ll go, but first . . .”

“But first?” Priest prodded.

Rowan’s attention turned to Cedric as he walked back into the kitchen with a large scroll in his grasp. He also clutched something under the crook of his right arm.

Frank and Hannah removed all the weapons from the large table, and Rowan helped Cedric spread an ancient map on the table. Her fingers trailed across the tobacco-colored paper and followed

lines that had been etched centuries earlier by a relative . . . a woman whose blood she carried in her veins.

Pretty powerful stuff. It was but one piece of her history—one piece of her soul—and she was filled with emotion.

She glanced at Cedric, and mouthed, “Thank you.”

She eyed the faded parchment, then turned to the men, and whispered, “First we have to find it.”

Chapter 13

“You have to find it.” It was a statement, not a question. Priest no longer looked like he was in his happy “we get to go hunting and possibly kill things” kind of place. “How can you not know where it is?”

Rowan gave Priest an irritated look, which she then passed to Nico—in case he had any ideas of getting in her face. For the tenth time that morning, she thought about how much men complicated things. They were always second-guessing, throwing their weight around, and trying like hell to take over.

She just wanted them to ease up and give her a little breathing room.

Mostly, she wished that Azaiel would move the hell back. The Seraphim had stepped closer, to get a look at the map no doubt, but it was much too close for comfort. Her comfort.

“Step away, people. This is a valuable James family heirloom, and if any of you so much as breathe on it, I’ll give you the worst case of face warts ever.”

Frank and Cedric moved back immediately, and they both looked at the three remaining men as if they were crazy. Cedric tugged on his chin. “Just so you boys know, the last time Miss Rowan spelled a case of face warts, the entire football team was quarantined.” He paused dramatically. “For two whole weeks.”

“Crap, I forgot about that, though it could have been worse,” Hannah agreed. “She was so pissed at the quarterback that I thought for sure she’d make their peckers fall off too.”

Nico, Priest, and Azaiel moved back.

Rowan ignored all of it. Her focus was clear, and she was more than a little anxious to get started.

“Cedric, can I have it?”

Cedric nodded and withdrew a plastic Ziploc bag.

“Hannah, get the candles. They’re in the walk-in pantry, on the last shelf, tucked away near the back. Behind the big blue water jug.” She looked at Cedric. “At least that’s where they used to be.”

“Nothing’s changed, Miss Rowan.” A sad smile crossed his face as he carefully unzipped the plastic bag and grabbed the hairbrush. “Your grandmother was a creature of habit.”

“Good.” A thought crossed her mind, and she turned quickly. “Hannah, don’t forget to—”

“Mother-trucker!” The shriek was instant, followed by a string of cusswords that weren’t anything like the G-rated version.

“Ask the goddess for permission to enter,” Rowan finished lamely, wincing as she glanced back toward the pantry.

“Is she all right?” Nico asked gruffly.

Rowan turned to Nico in surprise. “She’ll be . . . fine.” The shifter didn’t reply but relaxed against the doorframe. She wasn’t fooled. The jaguar was strung tighter than a yo-yo, and she got the impression that maybe Azaiel wasn’t the only thing making him uncomfortable.

She looked pointedly at Azaiel. “I’m going to need you and Priest for this spell. Without the coven present I need more power. I’ll be tapping into yours if that’s all right.”