King of The Damned
For millennia the struggle between light and dark, between the upper and lower realms, has been policed by a secret group of warriors culled from every fabric of existence. They are both otherworld and human, male and female. They are light and dark themselves and known to each other as the League of Guardians. Their pledge, to protect the line between dominions and make sure neither side grows too powerful. If they fall, so shall the earth, the heavens and hell. And there will be no more.
With darkness all around him, The League of Guardians is his only means of redemption…
Azaiel, the fallen, has been given a second chance to atone for the sins of his past. With demons gathering and threatening the league, he must find out if their circle has been breached. What he doesn’t foresee is a woman—a fierce warrior—who will turn his world upside down and awaken his tortured soul.
Rowan James is a powerful witch out to avenge the death of her beloved grandmother, but she needs an ally. Will she be able to trust a man with secrets as dark as the sorrow in his eyes? Loving Rowan means risking salvation and yet Azaiel cannot ignore the hunger burning hot between them—his one last chance at happiness. With danger all around them, will these two desperate souls finally find love in each other? Or be forever damned…
“You don’t know what you ask.”
Her eyes changed. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I know exactly what I want.”
“I’m not a nice man, Rowan. In fact I’m the most flawed creature you’ll ever meet.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t scare easy.”
She had no clue what he was. What he was capable of. What he’d done in the past.
Her eyes were luminous, huge jewels hung in a face so exquisite he knew he would never forget her. How could he? She was perfect. Just as she was. Right now. At this moment.
She stared up into his eyes and then slowly dropped her gaze to his mouth. Azaiel’s groin tightened even more and he inhaled sharply as she moved closer. He needed to stop whatever the hell this was before it was too late.
“Move back.” He bit out.
“No.”
Anger boiled inside him. She was just a little girl playing a game she couldn’t win. He was Azaiel, one of the original Seraphim. There was no middle ground with him and his passions ran hotter than she could handle.
“What game are you playing, Rowan?”
“I’m not playing a game.”
“This can’t happen.” He said through clenched teeth.
“I think it can.” Her eyes focused on his lips once more and he thought he was going to go crazy.
“Your family is right inside—“
“I don’t want to talk about my mother or my crazy cousins,” she licked her lips and they glistened, plump and ripe and inviting. “I don’t want to discuss the curse or Mallick or…”
“Kellen?” The man’s name on his tongue was bitter and he scowled down at her.
Rowan’s hand crept up and when she touched his cheek, energy rolled over his tall frame, in a wave of hot, need. She stood on her tip toes and if Azaiel was smart he would have disengaged himself from Rowan’s touch and stepped back. He would have put some distance and perspective between the two of them.
But Azaiel wasn’t smart. Or even in control. He was under a spell. Rowan’s spell.
And at the moment she was all that mattered.
“I especially don’t want to talk about Kellen.”