King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel (32 page)

Chapter 32

T
he night was moonless. A thick, heavy blanket of dark with only the glow from her candles to light the way.

Rowan felt ill, and every step that she took toward the clearing, she wanted to take another in the other direction and run until she couldn’t run anymore. Her head was heavy, and her heart full of pain.

The information that Azaiel had imparted wasn’t shocking. It wasn’t a huge revelation. Hell, she’d known all along that this supernatural A-team wasn’t your run-of-the-mill operation. And she was proud that her grandmother had been part of their group. Their League of Guardians.

I want him.

And that was the heart of her pain. Azaiel. In a few hours she might not even exist in this realm, and if she did succeed . . . she was bound to her family and he was bound to this League . . . this group of warriors.

They could never be together. Those had been his words. They fucking sucked.

“Miss Rowan. We’re almost there.” Cedric spoke quietly, and her focus shifted. The clearing was dead ahead; she saw candles burning through the trees.

“Are you sure you want to stay, Cedric?” She glanced at her mother. “Mikhail can take you back to the house.”

The old man turned to her, anger in his eyes. “Now you listen to me, child. I don’t need no damn coddling. I will see this ended and that abomination destroyed, you hear?”

Rowan nodded, a smile touching her lips. “I hear.”

“Everything okay?” Kellen appeared at her side, his face tense, his eyes somber.

Rowan nodded. “Is everyone in place?”

“The Blackstones are in town patrolling with the Lawrences. The others are here along with Azaiel and his crew.” Kellen touched her cheek. “We’re ready. Let’s do this. Let’s end this once and for all. For Nana.”

“For Nana,” she whispered.

They entered the clearing, and she felt the weight of everyone’s gaze as she slowly made her way toward them. Her family. Her tribe. Her people. So many faces—aunts, cousins, the entire James coven—and all of them were here for her.

Frank nodded from across the clearing as he handed out modified weapons to the hunters who would patrol the woods. His face was tense, his expression fierce, his forehead covered in sweat. He winked and continued on, barking orders to the hunters.

Hannah stepped in front of her. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Her blond hair had a blue streak down the middle, and she pointed to it, shrugging. “I decided to color-coordinate with Nico, but he didn’t find it amusing.” Hannah’s mouth tightened. “In fact he was kind of pissed off.”

“Men,” Rowan said softly.

“Yeah.” Hannah paused for a second, her eyes misty, her voice trembling. “I want you to fry that mother-trucker. Okay?”

Rowan hugged her cousin, and whispered, “I’ll do my best.”

Rowan cleared her throat as she turned from Hannah, eyes searching for Azaiel and feeling more than a little deflated that he was nowhere to be seen.

She spoke clearly as she addressed the circle. “I will bury Mallick tonight. One way or another. His hold on our family will end.” She swallowed thickly as she caught sight of her mother. Marie-Noelle’s face was pale, but she stood, arms linked with Vicki and Terre.

“This circle must stand strong, and I need all of you to find whatever strength you can to keep it solid. Once inside, I will summon him, and I have no idea what will happen.”

Rowan took a step forward and halted when she caught sight of Azaiel on the outskirts of the circle. His expression was fierce. He exuded power, and she fed from his strength, felt his energy surround her like a warm blanket.

I love him.

He nodded as if he’d heard her, and everything fell away in that moment.
I can do this.
The invisible weight of the sword of Gideon rested against her hip while the dagger her father had given her was hidden in the pocket of her jeans.

Time was up, but she was cool with that. She was ready.

Rowan exhaled slowly, walked forward, and stepped into the circle.

Four candles in a square bordered the circle of witches. Young and old joined hands; among their ranks were Priest, Kellen, and Azaiel. The black jaguar patrolled the outer ring, his large tail sweeping back and forth as the women chanted.

Their energy lit up the night with a soft glow that hovered above them, and all around the souls of the dead came to visit. It was Samhain, the veil had thinned, and their energy was welcome.

Rowan stood alone inside the circle, seeing things she’d never dreamed of. Women appeared before her—women who she
knew.
She knew their names, their faces, and their minds. These were her people—the many witches who’d lived before her. And there were those whose faces were rotted, maggot-filled, and sunken. They called to her for vengeance.

They were the ones Mallick had defiled. Depleted. And destroyed. Her family. Her tribe.

One face appeared and nearly ripped her heart out. “Nana,” she whispered.

Cara James stood just behind her daughter and placed her hand upon Marie-Noelle’s shoulder. Her sorrowful eyes held Rowan’s gaze for several long moments before Cara closed her eyes and began to chant.

Rowan did the same and let her hands fall to her side as she recited the spell in her mind—the one that would open the mark on her neck. The words fell from her lips, and with each passing moment, she felt the skin on her flesh burn and recoil as Mallick’s mark was restored.

A great roaring echoed in her ear, swept in by a wind that brought with it not only debris but the smell of depravity and evil. Her hair twisted above her head, and she struggled to keep her legs steady as she cleared her mind of everything except Mallick.

The howling wind intensified, and the pressure inside her head was fierce. Fog rolled in, sweeping through the clearing in waves of cold mist that dampened her clothes. Rowan’s ears popped, and she cried out and fell to her knees, clutching the back of her neck in pain.

She heard nothing but her heartbeat. Suddenly the wind died down, and there was silence. It pressed upon her, and when she opened her eyes he was there. In her circle. Inches away.

Mallick stared down at her with eyes the color of glacial ice. His thick, glossy hair was pulled back, tied behind his head in a long ponytail the color of midnight. He was dressed in black. Head to toe.

Rowan smiled. They were funeral clothes. How fucking appropriate.

His handsome face changed—a subtle shift in the eyes and mouth—as he glanced behind her, then turned in a circle.

“You think to trap me?” His voice was deep, with an accent not heard in the human realm. It was not unlike Azaiel’s though the demon’s was thicker as if his voice box was seldom used.

“I thought we could have a chat.” Slowly she got to her feet and eyed him warily.

“A chat,” he mocked. “How human.” He arched a brow and smiled widely. “I will enjoy breaking you, Rowan.”

“Like you broke Cara? Did it make you feel powerful to maim an old woman who had no chance to defend herself?”

He laughed. A full-bodied belly laugh that reverberated inside her head and made her nauseous. Had he done the deed?

“You’re a coward, Mallick. Hiding behind the skirts of my family. My blood.” Rowan’s fingers itched with the burn of her power. “You crossed the line when you left my grandmother to die like a piece of garbage. When you tortured and marked her.”

Even now, the details of Cara’s death were difficult to comprehend, and a part of her wished that Azaiel hadn’t shared everything with her.

Mallick’s grin widened, his serrated teeth glinting in the shadows cast by the fires that burned around them. “You think I would kill and torture someone loved by you and”—he arched a brow—“not make you watch?”

Rowan’s face whitened, and she took a step forward, hands raised.

Mallick paused, nostrils flared, and his eyes widened in anger. The earth trembled beneath her feet, and she nearly fell as she struggled to keep her balance.

“You’ve given yourself to another.” Bloodred eyes stared at her, his fury impressive as he bared serrated teeth at her. “You will pay for that. You belong to me.” Mallick snarled and glanced around once more. “You all belong to me.”

“No.”

Mallick cocked his head and seemed surprised that she’d spoken. “That will cost you, little witch.”

“No,” she said again as the coven closed ranks, and their chanting increased. Their power floated in the air and slid over her skin with ease. Rowan caught sight of her mother . . . of her Nana and her cousins. Hannah’s eyes were riveted to Mallick as she chanted along with the others. Their strength, their bond was inside her now. She felt it coil around her heart and soul.

A face appeared from the mist, an old, worn, tragic face. She knew it was Agatha, the one who’d called Mallick forth so long ago. Agatha nodded and screamed.

Mallick roared in anger and summoned his own army. They attacked, and Rowan knew she needed to act quickly. Her hunters could only hold them off for so long, even with the added strength of the fae, whom she felt along the fringes of the circle.

She began to recite the binding spell and sidestepped agilely as Mallick lunged toward her. The coven’s power sizzled in the air, a beautiful luminescent conduit that fed directly into Rowan. She used it, smiling wickedly as Mallick struggled to get closer to her—to break through the energy that protected her.

She closed her eyes, trusting her sisters completely, and the words fell from her lips, the ones that would bind him and keep him subdued while she excised his essence from his physical body.

When the binding spell was complete, Rowan’s eyes flew open, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her voice hoarse.

Mallick was livid. He glared at her with such hatred that for a moment fear sliced through her, and she thought she might be sick.

I will enjoy making you pay for this over and over, you dumb bitch.

The wind whipped at her furiously, and she struggled to keep herself upright, to keep his voice out of her head as she turned to Hannah. Her cousin tossed a large jar toward her, and Rowan caught it handily, setting it on the ground between them as she held out her hand and called forth the sword of Gideon.

Mallick’s mouth frothed when he caught sight of it, and he bellowed loudly, his voice screeching as he called for his forces to annihilate the coven. Screams echoed on the wind, but Rowan dared not take her eyes from the demon in front of her.

She opened her mouth and stared directly into death’s gaze as she began to call forth the charm that would pull his essence from his body. Mallick’s facade wavered, and his true form shone through. It was pure darkness and evil. She closed her eyes, her stomach rolling as the horror she’d seen floated in her mind.

A scream shattered through her brain, and Rowan stumbled to the ground
,
rolling to the side as the circle broke. “No!” she screamed, the spell interrupted. Abigail lay on the ground, a limp, rag doll with lifeless eyes and a deep wound to the neck. All around them chaos reigned.

She felt Mallick behind her a half a second before pain erupted along her scalp. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and when she twisted his fist knocked the sword flying before slamming into the side of her head. Stars flickered in front of her, and the breath was knocked from her body as Mallick threw her to the ground with enough force to shake the earth.

Blood spurted inside her mouth, and for a second Rowan was confused. Everything was too loud. Too chaotic. But then she saw him. Azaiel.

He was shouting at her, trying to fight his way past several blood demons, and though she couldn’t hear him, the look in his eyes was enough to clear her head. She rolled to the side, her father’s dagger in her hand as she jackknifed to her feet and faced Mallick once more.

“You stupid woman.” Spittle leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he bared his teeth once more. “I will kill you slowly, eat from you daily until you shrivel into nothing more than a husk of flesh. Then I will feed you to my dogs.”

Rowan knew she had but one chance. “You forget, asshole.” The world fell away as she lunged toward him. “I’m not a woman.” She plunged the dagger into his neck and took him down, rolling with him on the ground as he sputtered in rage. He stilled beneath her hands, his veins bulging like black, spidery tattoos as she leaned toward him. “I’m the fucking witch who is going to end you.”

She dug the dagger in as far as she could, watching as the fae poison spread throughout his body. Mallick’s eyes bulged, and froth leaked from the corners of his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

She pushed away and began to recite once more, trusting her coven, her hunters . . . her lover to keep her safe as she completed the ritual.

She was light-headed, her voice hoarse by the time Mallick’s mouth opened and his darkness erupted from every orifice, swirling in a tornado of dank, evil mist. Carefully, Rowan directed it into the large jar, and once it was captured, secured within the charmed glass, she glanced around wildly, her eyes searching for the sword of Gideon.

Her eyes burned at the sight before her. The circle was surrounded, part of it breached. On the perimeter Mallick’s dark soldiers attacked with a frenzy, and she knew her forces couldn’t hold much longer.

She crawled forward and spied Cedric. The old man stood beside Abigail’s prone body, and in his hands was the sword. He glanced up, eyes wet with tears, and she screamed at him to no avail. There, inches away stood a massive demon, its human form long gone and in its place, a seven-foot-tall wall of scales, muscle, and evil.

Its long, clawlike hand punched into Cedric’s back and through his chest like a hammer smashing into bone.

“No!” In one moment everything faded to gray, and Cedric’s eyes widened as he gazed at her. She saw his love for her family, his allegiance to her Nana. She saw his acceptance of his death.

He fell forward and with a painful gasp tossed the sword into the air. Rowan leapt upward, aware the jar was cracking, shaking with the rage that it contained. Without hesitation she turned and separated Mallick’s head from his body.