King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel (20 page)

He reached over and plucked what looked to be bits of demon crap out of her hair. Her scent was heightened, it filled the air and his lungs, teasing his nostrils with her earthy, sexy perfume.

“That was pretty awesome,” she finished, this time looking up into his eyes and smiling wide. “You have to admit, we do make a good team.”

Watch yourself, Azaiel.

His gaze lingered on her lips. “Let’s go,” he said abruptly. He needed to move. To kill and maim. As long as he had that on his plate he couldn’t think about her. Couldn’t think about how she’d felt beneath him. Of how she’d tasted.

He strolled down the street, ignoring her shouts, and rounded the corner. A sliver of darkness lingered in the air. A hint of decadence that got his attention. A crowd had gathered near the far corner, their silhouettes black against the soft glow from the lights above them.

The
WITCHES BREW
sign flashed neon red. He headed toward the crowd and shoved his way through, aware that Rowan was fast on his heels and yelling madly.

He couldn’t explain his anger. Or actions. And at the moment didn’t care to. He pushed his way inside, ignored the doorman, and entered a world unlike the Salem he’d encountered so far.

The Witches Brew was located in the shell of an old building that looked to have been a warehouse at one time.

Rowan yanked on his arm. “We shouldn’t be here.”

He ignored her and moved forward. Neon lights in pink, green, and blue were strung along the exposed brick walls, with Gothic paintings as decor. Exposed ductwork crept across the high ceiling, and along the far wall was a bar that ran the length of the building.

The club was dark, hot, filled with all kinds of scents and all kinds of bodies. Sex and lust lingered in the air like day-old cigarettes.

He sensed several otherworld creatures right away though he focused on the closest. A tall vampire leaned against the bar, surrounded by a trio of adoring human women. One sat on his lap, her breasts nearly falling from the low-cut blouse unbuttoned to her waist. Two small puncture marks stood out along her neck, while the other women clung to his sides as if he were a rock star, waiting their turn.

The vamp nodded at him, and as far as Azaiel could tell he’d not broken any covenants. He sensed no thrall, and the women seemed willing.

“This place is a safe house,” Rowan whispered. “It’s been years since I’ve been in here, but the humans that come know exactly what they’re in for. I tried to tell you . . .”

“Tell me what?”

“That we shouldn’t have come here.”

“I see,” he said tightly, his gaze fixed upon the dance floor and the writhing bodies that moved to the hypnotic beat provided by—what else? An otherworld band comprised of shifters and vampires.

The singer, a witch, had a voice Etta James would envy, and her coffee-colored skin glistened against the soft glow from the candles that lit the stage around her. Her hair hung down to her waist, in long strands of caramel braids, and her eyes locked onto Azaiel, their dark brown depths glittering, her plump red lips wet and inviting.

She sang a note, one that was full of rapture, and he felt the pull of her sexuality as surely as if she’d rubbed her voluptuous curves against his skin.

“She’s throwing her magick at us, Azaiel,” Rowan said hoarsely. “She wants you. She wants me.”

He was hot and pulled his gaze from the witch, only to settle upon two shifters—werewolves by the looks of it—engaged in a very public display of sex. They were in the corner and though shadows fell over them, he knew by the way they moved—slowly, back and forth—exactly what they were doing.

Suddenly he was surrounded by bodies—hot writhing bodies—and Rowan was crushed to his frame. The music slowed, the melody became darker, more provocative, and before he could stop himself, he pulled her in close. He held her, moved with her as her arms slipped around his waist.

The beat was inside him, a living, breathing thing, and it set every single cell in his body on fire with need and want.

Rowan moved against him, sensually, her soft belly pressed tight to his erection, and he groaned as her hands slid up to his chest. He stared down at her. Into her large, expressive eyes, the small nose and lips that were enough to make anyone insane.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he whispered, lowering his head.

“I know.” Her tongue peeked out from between her teeth, and he sighed harshly, his hands sliding down to her rounded butt. “It’s her . . . Alexis . . . the witch. She’s a sex witch . . . a succubus.”

“I don’t care.” Azaiel’s lips grazed her mouth, and her scent was everywhere. Erotic images played out in his mind. Rowan, beneath him. On top of him. Naked. Writhing amongst this crowd as he entered her. As his cock swelled and filled her. As she moaned and cried out his name.

The couple beside them began to doff their clothes, and others followed suit. The woman’s top disappeared, her pert breasts claimed by her partner’s mouth as he grabbed at her skirt and hiked it over her hips.

Azaiel couldn’t look away. He wasn’t strong enough.

The woman wrapped her legs around her lover, and he entered her with one, quick thrust that brought an immediate whimper from the woman. They moved back and forth, their bodies joined. Right there beside Azaiel and Rowan.

Rowan’s hand was at his crotch. Her fingers seeking, rubbing, and he swelled beneath her touch.

What the hell was happening?

“Oh God, Azaiel. I tried to warn you. I can’t stop.”

His tongue sought the refuge of her mouth, and he ate the words unspoken.
We shouldn’t have come here.

He slid inside her warmth, his mouth plundering, stroking, and he found that he couldn’t get enough. She tasted like honey and cinnamon, and when she groaned into his mouth, he gripped her tighter and picked her up so that she clung to him, her feet several inches off the ground.

The feel of her thrilled and excited him, as did the smell of sex and lust and danger. The song in his head magnified, and as his mouth trailed kisses down her neck, he found himself reaching for her jacket. The need to both touch and see her skin clawed at him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, very much like the couple who fucked beside them.

Each movement of the man’s hips plunged his body deeper into that of his partner, and their groans of pleasure rang in Azaiel’s head.

“I knew you would feel like this,” Rowan whispered, her hands inside his jacket, her palms beneath his T-shirt. “So hard.” She bent and kissed his collarbone. “And perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect,” he answered harshly as he gazed up at her. Long tendrils of hair clung to her moist skin, and he angled his head, smiled wickedly, and claimed a nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt.

Her hands crept into his hair, and she held him there, her hips gyrating against him as the music continued to swirl. The moans and cries of pleasure from everyone around him swam in his head. It intensified the need to bury himself inside Rowan, and the sensation was near painful.

He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Rowan James at that moment. Not even Toniella, the woman responsible for his stay in Hell—for his fall from grace—had made him feel like this. She’d been an obsession. Rowan was something else entirely.

The band sped up, the guitars, the bass, and keyboards, all blending into a mad, chaotic melody of sex and lust. Alexis moved through the crowd—even though she never left the stage—her voice touched them all, her sexual appetites filled everyone with the need to mate. To have sex and conquer their most base desires.

Azaiel watched the vampire feed openly from the human female upon his lap as he settled her against him. Her skirt was tangled around her waist, and the tantalizing view of her nakedness held Azaiel’s gaze. The vampire glanced up and smiled at him, his hands cupping the woman’s ass as he thrust into her. They rocked together in an erotic dance, and Azaiel looked away.

Highly aroused. Highly disturbed.

He gripped Rowan tightly, trying like hell to gather his thoughts. To find himself amongst the chaotic music.

This was hedonism at its finest, and it called to him with an urgency he was helpless to fight.

He set her on a table in the corner, but she squirmed away from him and knelt between his legs—her hands at his jeans, her fingers tugging at the zipper.

“I need you now,” she said hoarsely, and he did nothing to stop her as she freed him from his pants. As she slid her fingers over the thick, straining length of him. As her lips, her wet, soft lips licked their way along his cock. As she took him into her mouth.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, closing his eyes as she suckled and massaged him. His own words from before—his warning to her—echoed in his mind, but he paid no heed.

Wrong always feels right. It’s why hell is full of lost souls who aren’t strong enough.

He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the pleasure of her mouth. There was nothing but Rowan and Azaiel, there beneath the shadows and music. He thrust his hips at her. He let her take all of him into her mouth and knew he was lost. He’d never be able to stop.

And he was right.

There amongst the dark, seductive notes that fell from the succubus witch, amongst the straining crowd of human and otherworld, amongst the shadows shared by so many weak souls . . .

Azaiel lost his mind.

Chapter 20

H
e tasted like heaven, and the feel of him in her hands—in her mouth—filled her with such power that for a second Rowan was overwhelmed. The music filled her head, and each sultry note liquefied,
melted
her defenses.

Her only thought was to give Azaiel as much pleasure as she could.

She wanted to take him to the brink and fall over the edge with him. He strained against her, large, muscular, and so very, very male. He was beauty and strength. Lust and passion.

Words she didn’t understand fell from him as he approached the edge, and when he climaxed—when he came for
her,
he let loose a torrent of ancient speak that made her heart beat faster.

His hands were everywhere after that, and as the pressure built inside her body, she whimpered. All rational thought had fled. There was only Azaiel. And pleasure. And the darkness that hid the music.

He ripped at her clothes, his mouth on her breasts as he pushed her back against the table. He was there between her legs, his hands beneath the waistband of her jeans, his mouth and tongue driving her crazy.

There were no words. Only his body over hers. His rough breaths as his chest heaved. The growl that rumbled in his throat as he flicked his tongue across her turgid nipples.

“You tempt me like no other,” he said, then his mouth was on hers, his tongue inside. Seeking. Touching. Tasting. Her legs fell wide, and his hand was there, her zipper loosened, her jeans halfway down her hips. His long fingers sought the slick heat, which ached and throbbed, and when he plunged inside her, she lost all conscious thought.

Rowan’s head fell back, and she was aware of straining bodies in the shadows. Of grunts of pleasure and watching eyes that lingered. It excited her, and the pressure built so hard inside that it made her cry out.

She wanted Azaiel inside her. Here. On this table. In this club. She felt as if she were losing her mind, and the witch’s song burned into her brain. A slow, seductive melody she’d never forget.

Azaiel leaned over her, his eyes fierce, his face slick with sweat and passion. She reached up, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him as if he were the very air she needed to live. And for that moment he was everything to her.

Something vibrated then . . . in her jacket pocket. It was accompanied by a shrill ring. At first they both ignored it. They were too busy touching and tasting and tearing at each other. But the ringtone didn’t stop, and eventually the piercing key was enough to cut through the madness that had enveloped them both.

She pushed him away, slightly disoriented. “What are we . . .”

Azaiel swore, scooped her up, and moved them deeper into the shadows. He was breathing hard as he set Rowan away from him, and he turned, cursing roughly as he straightened his clothes.

“Oh Azaiel.” She glanced up into dark eyes that regarded her fiercely. “What have we . . . what are we . . .” Her head was thick, as if it were full of cotton, and she shook it aggressively, wanting the song to end.

Her breasts hung loose, her nipples hard and throbbing, the tender flesh aching. She jumped from the table, ashamed, as she buttoned her top, tucking the loose ends back into the waist of her jeans.

I can’t look at him.

The phone vibrated again. She licked her lips, her mouth bruised and swollen and she reached for her cell.
Oh God, I had him in my mouth.
Never had she ever acted in such a way with a man. Christ, she’d dated Mason for three whole months before she’d slept with him.

She glanced down and ran her hands through the mess of hair at her nape. She bit her lip. “It’s Kellen.”

“Did anyone ever tell that guy his timing sucks?” His voice was rough, his features harsh.

She flinched. “It would have been better if he’d called fifteen minutes ago.” She exhaled and read the text, hating the way her stomach clenched as she read the words.

“Has something happened?” Azaiel moved closer, and she wished he’d move the hell to the other side of the bar. Her body still thrummed and ached, and he smelled way too damn good.

She glared at the stage. And still Alexis crooned.

“I have to go and meet Kellen. Marie-Noelle is awake, and she wants both of her children.”

“Both of her? Who . . .” He moved in front of her then, something new in his eyes. “You and Kellen are . . . siblings?”

She looked up at him more than just a little irritated as she nodded. “Kellen is my brother, my twin. Who did you think he was?”

Azaiel stared down at her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Did she even hear his words? He looked like decadent, sinful, caramel-glazed chocolate. The throb between her legs burned, and she fought the urge to put her own hands there. Anything to alleviate the ache.

Shame burned her cheeks a deep rose, and Rowan glanced away, not liking the intensity of his eyes. What was he thinking? She’d thrown herself at him earlier and now . . . what they’d done here in the shadows.

She’d never lost control like that. Not even in her wild days. The last time she’d visited The Witches Brew had been ages ago. Back then, she’d come with her cousins Vicki and Hannah. To watch and titillate. But they’d always protected themselves with charms and had
never
participated.

“We have to go.” She ran her tongue across her lips. “We should . . .” She glanced around, and when she turned to him, she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “We need to keep this to ourselves. Don’t tell anyone we were at The Witches Brew. If Vicki finds out, she’ll know . . . and I . . . I just . . .” She paused—tongue-tied and hating that he still stared at her in silence. “We need to forget this happened.”

Just like that the reality of their situation smashed the sexual fantasy Alexis had unleashed in the both of them.

“This . . . what we just did isn’t our fault. Not really. It’s Alexis. It’s what she does. We shouldn’t have come in here,” she finished lamely. “I tried to warn you.”

He ran his hand through the thick blond hair atop his head, and Rowan tried not to think of what his hands had felt like. Of what he’d done to her this morning. Of what she’d done to him here, in this bar.
In public.

“Oh God,” she whispered, feeling slightly ill. She turned and pushed her way through the dense crowed, wanting only fresh air to clear her head.

And to forget.

“S
he’s waiting for you, Miss Rowan.” Cedric smiled though his sad dark eyes had lost some of their glimmer.

“Thank you.” Rowan took a second, her hand lingering on Cedric’s forearm. “Are you feeling all right? Have you been resting?”

He shrugged. “I’m feeling as good as I can right now.” He nodded toward her Nana’s rooms. “Go, on. You all need to say some things. Figure some stuff out.”

She shook her head. “I know. It’s just sometimes the doing is harder than the figuring out.”

He smiled and gripped her a little tighter. “You’ll be fine, Rowan. She is your blood.” His eyes misted. “She is Miss Cara’s baby girl, she’s just not as strong as you.” He squeezed her hand. “You remember that, now.”

Rowan stared into his dark eyes for a few moments longer, then moved past him. She ignored Azaiel, the same way she’d ignored him the entire ride home. It was the only way she could function. The images . . . the sensations—they were too much. Too intense. Too wrong.

The small tabby appeared from nowhere and jumped onto the counter near the Seraphim. Its little body shook from the ferocity of its purring, and it butted its small head on his hip. Behind him the clock glowed 2:30, and soon the others would be back.

Her brother stood with arms crossed, a fierce look on his handsome face. She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

She moved toward Nana’s rooms, paused with her hand on the door, and pushed it open.

Her mother glanced up from the bed, her fingers clutching the worn copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
to her chest. Beside her, standing guard, was the gargoyle. The huge creature looked fierce, and his size only made her mother appear that much more fragile.

Rowan had pretty much had it with the kid-glove treatment. It was time for her mother to grow up, something that was way past due.

“She loved this book.” Marie-Noelle’s voice was like sandpaper, rough and dry, and she spoke haltingly as if searching her mind for the right words. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I had so much to say to her.” Her mother glanced up. “I guess it’s too late for sorry, now.”

Rowan moved closer. “It was too late years ago.”

Her mother flinched at the harsh tone, but Rowan couldn’t help it. There were no warm fuzzies hiding in her heart. There was only anger, resentment, and the need for someone to pay. Kellen had asked her to be merciful. To forgive. She felt the weight of his gaze, but she couldn’t do what he wanted.

There was too much pain.

Marie-Noelle stood, her shoulders hunched, her small frame almost folded in on itself. She looked pathetic, and Rowan watched as Mikhail moved closer to her, his arm at the ready in case she needed assistance.

Her mother waved him away and walked toward Rowan and Kellen, her steps little more than a shuffle. Her eyes were alive with a feverish glint that could have been her sanity leaving her or the effect of the drugs Cedric had given her to calm her nerves.

Rowan was hoping for the drugs. “Do you know why you’re here?” Rowan asked.

Marie-Noelle gazed at the two of them as if she hadn’t heard the question. “You’ve both grown so much.” Pain shadowed her face, and she looked much older than her years. “Oh God, I’ve missed so much.” Her voice broke. “I’d give anything to get it back.”

“Mom, it’s okay. Take your time.” Kellen spoke gently, and Rowan just about pulled the pin.

“Seriously, Kellen? She’s not a child, so stop treating her like one. I’m so sick of everyone walking on eggshells around her.” She glared at her mother. “This isn’t about you, and for the record, I don’t give a flying fuck about your guilt.”

“Ro!” Kellen admonished.

She turned to her brother. “No, I’m done. I’m not playing this family-reunion game. This is bullshit. There are lives on the line.” She whirled back to her mother. “Lives that have been lost including the only mother I knew.”

Rowan’s chest burned. Her limbs trembled, and the energy inside her body tripled. The floor shook, several large planks of oak split up the middle, and a series of family pictures on the wall crashed to the ground.

Marie-Noelle flinched, and when Mikhail would have moved forward, Rowan’s hand shot out, and she stopped the gargoyle. “This is our business. Not yours.”

Rowan’s anger filled her throat, and for a few seconds she couldn’t speak—could barely breathe.

“I won’t let you hurt her,” Mikhail managed to get out.

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” she spit out. The darkness inside her pulsed with a heavy, hot hand, and she closed her eyes, struggling for control. The gargoyle growled and managed to put one foot forward, but Rowan’s hand shot up, and the creature was held in an invisible, iron grip.

“Rowan, calm down,” Kellen said into her ear. He was at her side now, his hand on her shoulder, and she was aware that the door had opened. Azaiel now stood on her other side, and when he touched her hand, when that connection was made, she felt the darkness fade, and eventually she got a handle on her emotions.

Azaiel grounded her.

Sweat rolled down her back, her gut churned, and for one brutal second the hate that she’d denied was there. It filled her body like sand in an hourglass, and her mother flinched at what she saw.

“Where is the grimoire?” Rowan exhaled and took a step forward.

Marie-Noelle’s eyes widened, and fear crept into her face. “Rowan, you can’t . . . it’s much too dangerous.”

Rowan laughed bitterly. “I’ll decide what’s dangerous. Getting our asses kicked every night by a bunch of demons is dangerous. Walking across the bloody street is dangerous.” Rowan moved until she was inches from her mother. Until she could see the tiny veins in her eyes and the wrinkles that creased the corners. “I’d rather face a thousand Mallicks and go down fighting than to give up and become his bitch. You got that? I will steer my own ship, Mother, and it will either find safe passage, or I’ll take him down with me. This has to end.” Rowan closed her eyes. “It
will
end on Samhain.”

Silence wrapped them all in a hot cocoon, and for several moments no one spoke. Marie-Noelle’s body trembled, her fingers clutched the book tightly in her grasp, and her eyes never left her children.

“Mom, do you know where the grimoire is?” Kellen asked gently as he moved forward. “Ro, needs it.” He glanced back at Rowan. “We all need it or Nana’s death means nothing. I know you’re scared, but we’ve pretty much reached the end of the road.” He touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm. “Don’t you think?”

Marie-Noelle shuddered and exhaled. She nodded, her eyes lowered. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Never meant doesn’t mean anything once it’s happened,” Rowan retorted.

Marie-Noelle nodded, defeat in her voice. “You’re right.” Her eyes cleared, and she gazed at Rowan. “You’re right about all of it, and if you need to drive that point home over and over again, I won’t say anything.”

“There’s nothing you can say.”

Marie-Noelle sighed. “He was just so . . . charming.”

“Who?” Kellen prodded.

Rowan stepped forward, but Azaiel’s large hand swallowed her smaller one whole, and she froze. “Give him a chance,” Azaiel whispered.

Marie-Noelle closed her eyes. “He was beautiful and dangerous and the sun was in his hair and he reminded me of someone.”

“Where did you meet him?” Kellen asked.

“I don’t remember. The forest? A bar in town?”

Rowan’s stomach lurched, and her fingers dug into Azaiel’s palm.
Oh God,
do I want to hear this?

“I just remember I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, he was there.”

“A name would be nice. Who?” Rowan yanked her hand from Azaiel and pushed past Kellen. “Who the hell did you give our grimoire to?”