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She was bitter.
Azaiel watched as she walked past all of them and slipped out into the backyard.
Bitter and hurt.
Rowan held her arms tight around her body, seeking what warmth she could even though inside she was as cold as ice. The sun was up and had burned off the frost that had coated everything only an hour ago, leaving the brown, dead things that littered the ground in warmth.
She kicked at a pile of shriveled leaves and watched them tumble and scatter in the breeze. She’d always loved fall. The turning of the seasons . . . it was one of the things she missed most about living in Salem.
But now? She watched a large maple leaf swirl in the air before it fell back onto the gray cobbled stone path. Now, she felt as dead and empty as the leaves seemed to be. Dislodged from their anchor, they went wherever the wind took them, wandering aimlessly. Lost. And in the end, they died alone.
Rowan’s chest tightened, and she bent over to pick up the large leaf. It had turned a vibrant yellow, yet the frost had edged the tips with brown, and it was no longer soft but had a hard, crisp texture.
It was already half-dead, and by Samhain, would be nothing more than a shriveled-up piece of waste.
She held the leaf up to the sun, letting the anger inside rush through her veins. Was this to be her fate? To wander the next few weeks anchorless? Would she perish, a prisoner of a demon lord? Destined to spend her youth and whatever she had left deep beneath the human realm, ensconced in the underworld?
The leaf fell from her fingers and drifted away, catching a tide of wind that took it high into the sunshine, only to disappear beyond the gardens.
Would she survive Mallick’s onslaught? Would she have the chance to grow old and have children? She thought of Azaiel and her cheeks flushed crimson. She shook her head and squared her shoulders. Why the hell would she think about him? Sure, he was gorgeous with his abs of steel, wide shoulders, long legs, and to-die-for mouth.
But he was also dangerous. She knew this. She felt it in her bones. And Rowan had vowed never to involve herself with a man who was otherworld. What was the point? It only complicated things, and her life . . . her very existence . . . was complicated enough.
Besides, she had Mason waiting for her when this whole crazy mess was over. So he’d not seemed overly concerned when she’d called to tell him she’d be staying a few extra weeks. He hadn’t even asked why. It wasn’t their way. They didn’t have an intense relationship. It was calm. Comforting. Trusting.
With his lazy Californian way and slow kind of charm, the man was kind of perfect. He never got in her face, or asked questions about her family, or left the toilet seat up. He was stable. Had a good job and with his bookish ways, loved the quiet life, which for Rowan had been the prize she’d sought after such a tumultuous childhood.
She bit her lip. So maybe the sex wasn’t all that great, but it wasn’t bad either. Okay sex was better than nothing. Wasn’t it?
I bet sex with Azaiel would be mind-blowing.
Rowan swore and banished all thoughts of Azaiel and sex from her mind. Why would she even go there? Because he’s got a killer body, and you’re dying to see him naked.
She whirled around, eyes narrowed as she gazed at the house. Dammit, was Hannah putting these thoughts into her head?
Rowan sighed. There was so much to think about. So much to plan, and now with Kellen coming back . . .
She sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eyes, wincing at the pain that crept along her jaw. She couldn’t think about Kellen right now. Couldn’t think about the way they’d parted. The anger, harsh words, mistrust, and, ultimately, the disappointment that was between them.
If he was coming—and she’d believe that when it happened—then they’d have it out, but right now there were more important things to do. Time was ticking away, and she needed to put the first part of her plan in motion.
Rowan pulled up her big-girl pants, turned her butt around and headed back inside. There was no time to wallow in self-pity. No time to dwell on memories filled with ghosts and bad tidings. If she lost this war, there’d be time enough for all of that, but right now, she needed to gather her troops.
Everyone was in the kitchen when she entered. Hannah was deep in conversation with Priest and Nico. She looked up quickly, a guilty look on her face, and Rowan’s eyes narrowed. If Hannah was putting sinful inappropriate thoughts in her mind, she’d deal with her later.
Cedric and Frank were cleaning weapons—the kitchen table was overloaded with them—and Azaiel leaned against the counter, trying like hell to ignore the orange tabby, who seemed determined to win him over.
Rowan took a second and glanced at all of them though she didn’t quite meet Azaiel’s gaze. With the lusty thoughts and fresh images of his naked body still burned into her brain, she didn’t think it was a good idea. For all she knew, he had mind-reading capabilities.
Wouldn’t that be an awkward thing to explain?
“Have you contacted everyone in the coven?” She directed her question to Hannah, and her cousin nodded vigorously, moving away from Nico and Priest.
“Yes, they’ll be here within the next few days. Terre and Vicki should be home by tomorrow. Clare is in Europe, but she’s catching the first plane from Dublin, so a few days at most, and I’ve not heard back from Simone though I left a message. Abigail and”—she stumbled—“Kellen will be here tonight.”
“Good.” Rowan nodded to Cedric. “Okay, it’s time.”
Cedric carefully placed the gun he’d been cleaning back on the table and slowly got to his feet. He walked with an uneven gait—his arthritis was worse in his right leg—and as he left the kitchen she caught the look that passed between Hannah and Frank.
