Page 55 of Wicked Road to Hel (League of Guardians 1)

He felt empty, cheated, and pissed off.

Why couldn’t she be like any other lay? A quick fuck, no need for conversation, and move on to the next. He’d thought that if he could have her, even just once, maybe the raw need he felt every time he looked at her or thought about her would go away. Instead, it burned hotter, meaner, and Declan knew it would never abate.

He ran his hand through his hair as his gaze traveled the room. Tonight he was heading back to Hell. Back to Lilith. He needed to focus and yet all he could think about was Ana.

A sliver of energy rippled along the air, a soft whisper of darkness. He turned toward the door. Benny stood aside as Cale strode in, followed by Samael. They were early.

Declan squared his shoulders. He was fucked. There was no way around it.

He watched the two men as they advanced through the crowd. The demon’s eyes were hidden once more behind large aviators, while Cale’s piercing gaze zoomed in on Declan immediately. Cale said something to Samael and the demon nodded; a flash of white cutting through the dim as he smiled.

It was odd, the way the two men were so comfortable together considering they were in effect sworn enemies. Declan settled back onto the bar stool. It was only another layer to an already bizarre set of circumstance.

“I’m impressed with your enthusiasm.” Samael grabbed the stool to Declan’s left and sat. “I didn’t think you’d show until midnight.” The demon twirled around until he faced the room and he leaned back, elbows on the bar. Samael looked totally relaxed. Declan glanced at Cale. The Seraph’s face was blank, his eyes flat.

The demon ordered three shots of tequila and remained silent as Sarah quickly grabbed the glasses. Her eyes were shooting bullets at Samael. She was no doubt still pissed over his treatment of her the night before. Yet money talked in the Big Easy and she quickly pocketed the fifty spot he threw on the bar.

She handed them each their glass and leaned toward Declan. “I hate to tell you this but you’re challenged when it comes to choosing women”—she nodded toward Samael—“and the company you keep. He makes your vampire look like a pussycat.”

She didn’t know shit about Ana, but Declan smiled. “Agreed.”

; “Just leave the bottle, darling.” Samael tossed an additional wad of cash onto the bar and Sarah grabbed it quick. She left the bottle where it stood, threw a disgusted look at the demon, and moved away.

The shifter at the end of the bar nearly toppled his bar stool in a mad effort to leave. Declan watched him go. He might be a shitty tipper but he sure as hell had some smarts.

“Is the boy with Ana?” Cale asked as he sat down on the other side of Declan.

Declan nodded. Nico was privy to the situation, and though he didn’t like what was going down, the jaguar’s first priority was Kaden. Declan trusted that the boy would be safe. He’d strengthened his wards around the mansion tenfold and had a long conversation with Kaden. He was confident the teen knew how precarious, how dangerous, his situation was.

As for Ana, he’d woven a little extra charm into the protection spells. It wasn’t foolproof, but hopefully was enough to contain the vampire for the evening. Before he took the trip down below he’d make sure Ransome was in the loop. He wanted the wolf patrols doubled.

“He’s good.” Declan glanced at the Seraph. “I’ve got everything covered.”

“What of my necromancer?” Samael asked.

“She’s not yours anymore,” Declan answered. Francesca was locked away in Ana’s mansion. She’d been near catatonic and hadn’t said a word since the night before.

Declan glared at the demon and allowed a surge of power to exit his hands. The glasses on the bar shook slightly as an invisible conduit of energy erupted across the surface. It narrowly missed the demon’s elbows as he rested them there, though his bottle of tequila wasn’t so fortunate. The bottle toppled over and crashed to the ground.

“Your parlor shenanigans are growing tiresome, sorcerer. I suggest you stop.” Samael looked straight ahead but the tightness of his mouth indicated he was not impressed.

Declan’s hands burned hot. He clenched them tightly and considered smashing them into Samael’s face. “You’re right,” Declan said, his tone conversational. “Parlor tricks are for amateurs and that’s something I haven’t been for decades. You should tread lightly, demon, because Lilith taught me well”—his voice lowered—“and it was from her fountain of depravity that I fed for months.”

Samael laughed. “I hope you’re thirsty, because a steady diet of Lilith is what you’ll be surviving on if you fail.”

“Enough!”

Both Declan and Samael glanced at Cale in surprise. The Seraph stood with legs spread and arms across his chest. He was decked out in requisite black, his face tense, his manner grave. A tall, skinny human sidled up to the bar, totally unaware of the company that surrounded him.

“Dude.” His voice was raspy as if ill used, and his dead, watery eyes told a tale of illicit substances. “You know where I can score some—”

“Leave at once,” Cale ordered. The stranger froze and gave his head a shake before turning around without another word.

“Hey, buddy,” Sarah inserted, “this is a bar and we make money selling alcohol.”

Declan was impressed. The bartender had balls.