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He glanced at Rowan. “If it liked me, it would go find a corner and relax.”
“She’s not an ‘it’ Azaiel. She’s a little tigress and needs a name.” Rowan finished her coffee and placed the cup in the sink. They were the first words she’d spoken since they’d come inside.
“Then give her a name.”
Her brow furled as she concentrated. “A name is so important.” She glanced up, and the smile that lit her eyes was something to behold. “You get it wrong, and the poor thing could be scarred, you know?”
Azaiel’s mood lightened. “Do you actually believe that the little fur ball knows the difference between a good name and a bad one?”
Rowan stroked the animal behind her ears, her long, delicate fingers massaging the tabby’s neck in slow, methodical strokes. As he focused on them, his mouth went dry, and his mind went south.
“Of course she’ll know.” Rowan glanced up. For a moment their eyes locked, and he was sure her heart beat as fast and hard as his.
He cleared his throat. “Well, then. You’d better get it right.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Oh, Lord.”
They both glanced toward Cedric, who stared back at them from his perch near the stove. His warm, chocolate eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed. “Uh-huh. You two best forget about that there feline and get some food into you.”
Cedric had cooked up a feast of eggs, bacon, toast, home fries, and the sweetest strawberry jam ever. Azaiel and Rowan dug in, and the quality of the food was more than enough to make up for the strained atmosphere—if anything, it kept conversation to a minimum though the covert glances were hard to ignore.
Nico wasn’t in his happy place, and the shifter had no qualms about letting everyone know his state of mind. He sat at the large table, legs stretched out in front of him while he stared out the window, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but where he was. His mood was foul, and not even Hannah’s attempts to engage the shifter worked. The little blonde had given her best shot and now chomped her way through a bowl of cereal as she glared at the Jaguar.
P
riest returned to the kitchen and stood alone, his face expressionless, though his eyes touched them all. He’d left to make a phone call, choosing his cell over the landline—which meant the identity of whoever he was calling wasn’t meant for public consumption.
Azaiel caught Rowan’s eyes upon Nico several times, and, for whatever reason, he didn’t like it. He knew Rowan was full of questions—the jaguar warrior’s dislike wasn’t exactly subtle—but he was in no hurry to explain the sins of his past.
They were a sorry-ass bunch and needed to gel somehow, or they wouldn’t be successful. The thought of Rowan in Mallick’s clutches made him ill, but the questions Priest had posed earlier were troublesome. What had the Knight Templar been getting at?
Rowan pushed away from the counter, bent slightly, and scratched the little animal behind her ears. “What shall we call you?” She glanced up and caught Azaiel’s eye, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks before she straightened and looked away.
The last half hour had been an almost surreal expanse of time. There’d been no replay of the night before, and from what little he could see, a lot had happened. Aside from the bruise on Rowan’s jaw, Hannah sported several cuts along her forearms, and her middle finger was broken. She’d laughed about it and said she didn’t need the middle finger to unleash her extraextra specials. Azaiel had remained silent. He didn’t find the joke funny.
Frank seemed to be all right though he was limping a bit, and Nico and Priest remained unscathed.
The words unspoken, the plans that needed to be addressed were like a weight across his chest, and Azaiel opened his mouth, intending to do just that, but the phone rang, and he didn’t get the chance. For a moment startled silence followed its shrill sound. And then Hannah jumped off the counter where’d she’d been eating a bowl of Lucky Charms and scooped it up.
“The Black Cauldron, Hannah speaking.” Her light brown eyebrows bunched in concentration, and she turned slightly, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear her words. She listened for several seconds, and Azaiel noticed that both Priest and Nico watched with undisguised interest.
Rowan’s eyes were trained on her cousin as well though her expression was hard to read.
“Abigail, you have to come. Oh good.” Hannah’s eyes darted toward Rowan, who’d pushed her chair back from the table. “What? No! Seriously you can’t—”
Hannah bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She spoke lower, though Azaiel had no trouble hearing her. “I told you we’ve got some extra bodies, and once the rest of the coven is here . . .” She darted another look at Rowan. “Yep, sure, I’ll let her know. See you tonight.”
She hung up, straightened the ceramic lime green frog that was near the sink, returned a plastic red sponge to its mouth, and, with a bright smile pasted to her face, nodded.
“What’s the matter with you?” Rowan took a step closer. “You’re acting really weird.”
“So that was Abigail.” Hannah’s face looked pained as the smile forced upon it tightened even more.
“And?” Rowan prompted. She grabbed the ketchup off the table and threw it in the floor-to-ceiling pantry that stood beside the back door.
“She’s coming,” Hannah replied brightly.
