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A large pair of aviators hid eyes not meant for humans to see while broad shoulders bore leather easily, and denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him as if he had all the time in the world.
Samael.
“Kellen James.” They turned as a slender woman with badly dyed magenta hair hacked to an inch past her ears walked toward them, dirty dishes and a menu in her hands. Her heavy, dark makeup hid what looked to be an attractive face, and the smile on her lips was genuine. “My God, it’s been ages. Where have you been hiding?”
“Hey, ah . . .”
“Kristina.” The girl’s tone was a tad sharper, her smile not quite so bright.
“Right, Kristina. It’s been a while. I’ve been in Boston.”
“Boston? That’s right, I think Hannah told me that last time I asked. You’re attending Harvard, right?”
“I was.” Kellen’s reply was curt. “I’m . . . not anymore.”
“Oh.” His tone made it obvious the subject was closed. “I heard that Rowan is back, too? What’s going on? Family reunion?” She laughed and smiled widely. “You’ll have to tell Miss Cara that we’re looking forward to sampling her pies and chili at the fair next weekend.”
Kellen nodded but didn’t answer.
Kristina turned her attention to Azaiel. “Who’s your friend?” She smiled at Azaie
l. “You sure as hell aren’t from Salem. Heck we could surely use some more men like you around here, that’s for sure.”
Azaiel remained silent. Why did females talk so much?
“You guys want a table? We’re a little full, what with it being so close to Halloween, but there’s room at the back.”
Azaiel shook his head. “We’re good,” and pushed past the small woman. Samael was on his feet, his tall, muscular frame unfolding from the table in one smooth motion.
“Figures you’re here to see him. Just so you know, he’s got a nasty temper.”
Azaiel and Kellen ignored the warning and followed Samael down a narrow hallway that led past the restrooms and to the back exit.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Kristina’s voice followed them outside.
Samael kicked the door open, and the three of them strode into the still-dark alley. A drunk sleeping it off in the corner near the large waste bin was ignored, as were the rats scurrying about.
The demon of chaos turned and flashed a smile that Azaiel knew didn’t reach his eyes. The bastard hated him as much as everyone else, but for whatever reason, his vow to Askelon was solid, and Azaiel knew he could be trusted.
“Cale filled me in. You’re looking for a way down?”
Azaiel nodded.
Samael turned to Kellen. “You’re the witch’s brother?”
“That would be me. And you are?”
“Not interested in sharing names.”
Kellen folded his arms across his chest and glanced toward Azaiel. “Buddy, the guys you hang with aren’t exactly friendly.”
“No,” Azaiel murmured. “They’re not.”
“This one seems more of an asshole than the damn jaguar shifter.”
Samael arched an insolent brow. “I’m sure Nico would agree.” He tossed a small vial to Kellen. “Drink this. It will help to mask your scent, which I’ve got to say is interesting, human.”
Kellen’s eyes frosted, and his voice held no warmth. “You and I both know I’m not exactly human, now don’t we?”
