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His grin quickly fled, and he glanced out into the darkness beyond the windows. Christ, why had he agreed to this stupid game? Because I like to hear her laugh. For several moments there was silence. He should have known Rowan wouldn’t play nice.

“A sorcerer by the name of Cormac O’Hara.”

“Why did he—”

Azaiel cocked his head, and she made a face. “I know, your turn.”

He eyed his cup, then asked a question he’d been wondering about for several days. “Who or what the hell is Leroy?”

Rowan burst into laughter once more, and he loved the way her face lit up. The smattering of freckles stood out against her pale skin, and the urge to reach across the table and taste them was strong.

Azaiel shifted in his seat, once again hard and wanting . . . and unfulfilled.

“Leroy is a goblin who was cursed by a bunch of witches juiced up on dark mojo. They were using magick illegally, and I’m not sure about the details, but I think he was being an ass . . . no pun intended.” She snorted, and he found himself smiling. “They put a spell on him and turned him into a donkey. We’ve tried several times but haven’t been able to reverse it, and it’s been nearly ten years.”

“That was not what I was expecting to hear.”

She smiled, a slow grin that made him clench his teeth. “Leroy is a nasty son of a bitch, and I’m not saying he deserves to be a donkey, but none of us are losing any sleep over it, that’s for sure.”

A blast of wind slammed into the window, which shuddered from the onslaught. Out there the cold bore down upon Salem with a fury that was not entirely natural. Something watched and waited. He felt it, and if Rowan’s nervous fingers were any indication, she felt it, too.

“Who is Toniella?”

His mouth tightened at her name though Azaiel was careful to keep his face neutral. He remained silent, stared into the recesses of his coffee cup for a few moments.

“Earlier this afternoon, Kellen mentioned her to me. He said that she was there. That she helped you.”

Azaiel nodded. “She was.”

“He said that you knew her from before . . .”

Azaiel pushed his now-empty coffee mug away and narrowed his eyes. “If Kellen told you all this, then why are you asking me?” He shrugged. “Seems to me you know more details than I care to give.”

She moistened her lips and leaned forward. “He didn’t tell me what she meant to you.”

He scowled. “That’s more than one question.”

“I don’t care,” she retorted. “What did she mean to you?”

Her breath fell in rapid spurts. He watched her small breasts rise and fall in agitation. She seemed upset.

“Why do you care?” He watched her closely.

“I don’t . . .” She lowered her lashes and stared into her coffee cup. “I don’t know why I care. I just . . . would like to know what the woman meant to you.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to answer.”

“She was my lover.”

Her eyes shot up, and he held her gaze steady. “She was my obsession. My world. My curse.”

Her eyes were like large round drops of liquid navy. They shimmered when she was high on emotion, and at the moment she was flying.

“Did you . . . love her?”

Azaiel frowned and glanced out into the darkness. He thought he had. Lord knows he’d lain awake many a night thinking of her smile, her hair, and her golden skin. He’d turned his back on his brothers for her. His god. His morals. Had he done that for love?

No.

For the first time since his banishment to Hell, he realized that it had been all wrong. Love had never entered the equation. It had about been ego, lust, and power.

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