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“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.”
