AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Surprise flickered in the demon’s eyes, and that made Azaiel uneasy. The bastard stared back at Azaiel in silence but didn’t utter another word.
“You had no idea she’s been murdered,” he said, more to himself.
The demon hissed, its eyes now full of malice. “Doesn’t matter. The bounty extends to anyone who carries the coven’s mark.” The demon’s gaze moved behind Azaiel. “The redheaded bitch’s days are numbered.” It smiled, a wheezing breath escaping from its lungs. The charmed dagger was doing a bang-up job. “They will keep coming.”
A bounty. Interesting.
“Who ordered the mark?” Azaiel pressed on.
The demon laughed. “Not who, but what.”
Azaiel leaned forward and let a glimpse of his true power show. The demon’s eyes widened, and its body stilled as it stared into Azaiel’s eyes.
“I know you,” it said, grunting in pain as Azaiel withdrew the dagger. The demon staggered, its face pale as the charmed poison worked its way through its veins. “You’re the Fallen. The ancient Seraphim who escaped the Hell realm.” It gritted its serrated teeth and snarled. “Toniella’s bitch—”
Rage colored Azaiel’s vision. “Nice to know my reputation precedes me.” He lunged forward and with one clean swipe, destroyed the demon. He watched, chest heaving as its head tumbled to the ground, followed by its body.
An image of the betrayer rose before him. Her long blond hair was all around him, her scent filled his nostrils, and for a second, he was back there. In Hell. Locked away in his prison for eons, with the knowledge that the betrayer had put him there—a woman he’d loved.
A woman he’d sinned for.
“Watch out!” The scream ripped him from the past into a very different reality. Azaiel whirled around and ducked, barely missing the wrong end of a machete as it swung toward him. The blade whizzed past and embedded into the wall behind him.
The fucker he’d sent flying had rebounded.
Azaiel grabbed the machete, yanked hard, and faced the demon, angry that he’d been so easily distracted. The demon snarled and lunged forward, opening its mouth, ready to let loose the poison its tongue wielded.
It had no chance. Azaiel moved with preternatural speed. He brought the machete down hard, slicing through bone and flesh with ease.
He stared down at the remains with disgust, stepped over them, and shook a few remnants loose from his boots. He glanced at Rowan. The witch’s blouse was splattered with blood, bits and pieces of gore clung to her hair. At her feet lay three demons—their bodies already decomposing as the charmed poison continued to work its way through their systems.
Their eyes caught and held and for a second—for the briefest moment of time—he felt something other than the hatred and self-loathing he’d been living with for longer than he cared to remember. He looked away, cracked his neck, and when he gazed upon her once more, it was gone.
“Stay put.” He nodded toward the window. “Until I’m sure it’s safe.”
Azaiel moved past Rowan, but her hand shot out, and she grabbed his arm. Her energy sizzled along his flesh, and he turned to her in surprise. Her eyes were now fully black, the pupils dilated. They shimmered like pools of liquid ebony.
She was no ordinary witch.
“I’m coming with you.”
His eyes narrowed as he gazed down at her and frowned. “There’s a bounty on your head. You will stay inside.”
“A bounty.” It wasn’t a question, and she wasn’t surprised. “No kidding.” She looked away as silence fell between them. Azaiel studied the woman. She knew something—or at the very least suspected something.
Lightning cracked across the night sky, splitting through the dark and illuminating the room in a flash of white energy. It was then that he felt it once more, the probing, silent presence beyond. A small gasp escaped the witch, and he saw the way her eyes darted toward the window as a mix of emotions crossed her face. She pushed at the mess of hair around her face and wiped her mouth, avoiding his eyes as she did so. She felt it, too.
Interesting.
“Stay here and keep to the shadows. Do not show yourself unless it’s me.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Azaiel was down the stairs before she could utter a word, and he threw up a barrier of magick that should hold her for bit. How long depended on just how much mojo the young witch possessed. Azaiel hadn’t been given much information but from what he gathered, the James line of witches had been blessed with powerful magick.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused. There was no power, so everything was awash in darkness though the steady strikes of lightning illuminated the dead sunflowers on the table and a bag on the floor near the door.
A ripple of energy and the touch of heat on his skin had him fully alert. His nostrils flared, and he gathered his power. Something was outside, just beyond the porch.
&n
