of factions. Outlier species are varied. Allegiances are varied. And then there are those that ally to no faction. Independent witches, rogue warlocks, and Loup.”
“Why rogue? I mean, if the witches can be independent, why are warlocks called rogues?”
“The covens are a little more tolerant than the warlock factions and Loup packs. But even the independent witches pay a price. They lose their connection to the coven power and need to employ other methods to do magic.”
“Such as?”
His jaw tensed. “Blood, sex, and pain. They draw power from those.”
“Sounds peachy.”
“A long time ago, there was war and bloodshed among the outliers. Humanity was threatened by the overspill. The Underealm stepped in and negotiated peace. Necro is simply one of several hubs where I operate to ensure the outliers remain pacified and that their conflicts remain hidden from the human world.”
“Because we protect humanity?”
“We always have,” he said.
“Why?” I was genuinely curious why the Underealm gave a shit.
“Because it’s part of our treaty with the celestials. Part of the ceasefire that keeps the balance between the Beyond and the Underealm.”
“So, we’re basically the celestials’ bitches?”
He gave a surprised snort but didn’t deny it.
Leana entered carrying a tray. Her hips swayed as she moved, totally deliberate I’d say, and had she applied lip gloss?
Azazel smiled warmly at her as she set the tray on the desk. Two mochas and a cinnamon bun.
“I’m sorry, that’s the last bun,” she said. “I have a batch cooking, but it will be another half hour.”
Azazel’s gaze flicked up to me. “You like these too?”
Too?
It was Leana who answered. “You seem to share similar tastes.” She sashayed out, and something flicked across the floor behind her. Pink with an arrowhead tip. A tail.
She had a tail.
I waited till she was gone. “What is she?”
Azazel pushed the tray across the desk. “A beautiful anomaly.”
He said it fondly. He was fond of her. Something flickered in my chest, and the mark above my breast itched.
I picked up my mug and then reclaimed my seat. “You guys seem to be pretty comfortable around each other.”
Fine, I wanted to know if they’d banged. No idea why it mattered. Hell, it didn’t matter, I was just making small talk.
“Leana is under my protection,” Azazel said. “Not that she requires it. It’s a long story. Maybe I will tell you sometime.”
Why did the thought of him sharing his story with me make me feel all gooey?
He held out the plate with the bun on it. “Take it.”
I plucked it from the plate, tore it in half, and handed him a piece. “We can share it.”
Our gazes met, and gentle warmth unfurled in my chest. He took the offered half of the bun and, holding my gaze, took a bite. I did the same. We ate, gazes locked in a strangely compelling and intimate moment.
A rap on the door broke the spell. Azazel sat back in his seat and turned to the entrance. “Come in.”
A three-foot-tall man strode in, his ruddy cheeks quivering with suppressed indignation. I caught Azazel stifle a long-suffering sigh.
“What can I do for you, Huck,” he said calmly.
“Well, ya can stop those fecking piskies from urinating all over me crops, that’s wha ya can doo.”
What the fuck was that accent? Some kind of outlier dialect no doubt, and from the studying I’d done in the quarters’ library, this dude was definitely fae, a hobbit maybe?
“An who the feck is that?” He jerked a thumb my way.
He looked like a pissed-off baby with facial hair. I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from laughing.
“This is Dominus Dawn,” Azazel said, “and you will address her with respect.” His tone was a whiplash of icy air, and the bristling hobbit instantly shrank.
“Sorry, Azazel. I’m just so pissed.”
“Sit down, and let’s get some details,” Azazel said in a slightly warmer tone.
The hour passed quickly. After Huck, we had a couple of boggarts and then a beautiful half-demon who was being harassed by a local gang of Loup. A motorcycle gang that lived in the Rising Pack territory.
Azazel promised to speak to the alpha of the Rising Pack.
The door closed behind the demon, and Azazel stood and stretched. His T-shirt rode up, and my gaze slid to the exposed strip of flesh. He was more tanned than Mal or Conah.
“How often do you feed?” The question fell from my lips before I could think.
He froze mid-stretch and then slowly lowered his arms to his sides. “Why do you ask?”