Wicked Nights

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ANNABELLE HAD NEVER BEFORE spent an entire night in a man’s arms, had never thought to, since Heath had always had to jump out the window of her bedroom so that her parents wouldn’t catch him. But last night, she had remained snuggled into Zacharel’s side. Warm and strong, he held her, soothing her back to sleep when bad dreams dared to intrude.

She woke well rested, drug free and ready for whatever came. Or so she thought. By the time she’d brushed her teeth and showered, she had to face Zacharel and nerves nearly got the better of her.

The things he’d done to her… He was a man who had given her more pleasure than anyone else ever had, burning away the terrors of the past, leaving new, amazing memories to sigh over for years to come. She wanted that again. But…did he?

Probably not, she thought when she emerged from the bathroom once again wearing the maid’s uniform, because he did not look happy to see her. Although, if she were honest, his unhappy look pretty much matched all his other looks. Except for his smile, when those gorgeous dimples made an appearance.

I really want to see those dimples again.

He stood in front of the bed, his white robe pristine, unwrinkled, and his muscled arms crossed over his chest. He smelled of morning sky and sunshine, his hair brushed to a glossy shine.

“What’s got you in such an irritated mood? No demons attacked us last night,” she said, going for bravado rather than timid insecurity. “And notice I used the word irritated and not irritating, even though that’s what I was thinking.”

“I am not in a mood,” he replied. “Perhaps I am just overcome by my first sexual experience.”

Oh…well. Okay, then. Blood rushed into her cheeks, heating her skin. “You sure didn’t seem like a beginner,” she admitted.

“Thank you. Also,” he continued blithely, “I am content. I was right. You are harder to find when other humans surround you, which means I now know how to protect you.”

“Subject change accepted,” she muttered.

“That was not my intention.” He frowned, his emerald gaze moving just over her shoulder, as if someone had intruded.

She twisted, looking, but found nothing out of the ordinary. When she turned back, he was frowning at her.

“Your glow is more pronounced,” he said, “and the cause is not the lamp. I left my mark on your skin. My essentia.”

Heart drumming in her chest, she held an arm up to the light, turned it left, then right. “I don’t see anything.”

“You have glowed since the first day I met you, but the fact that the glow is now more pronounced tells me it was and is not natural.”

“I wasn’t touched by another angel, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m not. No two essentias are the same, and you definitely carry mine. I wonder…could you have been born with mine, meant for me and only me? I have never heard of such a thing happening, of a mark appearing before a claiming, but…anything is possible, I suppose.” As he spoke, he shook out his wings. “I will check…”

She lost track of his words, her mind ensnared by the beauty of those wings…so strong, so majestic, so wonderfully gold.

“I have already given you permission to touch my wings, Annabelle.”

Now he sounded irritated. “I know.”

“Then why are your hands fisted at your sides, rather than on me?”

“Because you look so enthused by the idea.”

He opened his mouth, snapped it closed. “Sarcasm?”

“Good call.”

His put-upon sigh echoed between them.

Her fingers uncurled and stroked over the arch of those golden wings. They were as hard as iron and ridged—until you encountered the feathers. Oh, baby, those feathers were softer than goose down. She caressed the tips, marveling when one of the longer ones loosened and fell into her palm.

Zacharel latched on to her wrist, but didn’t toss her hand away or claim the golden feather as his property. All hint of amusement gone, he said, “Look at me, Annabelle.”

A wave of trepidation swept over her as she obeyed. Had she done something wrong?

“You may never do this with another angel. Do you understand?”

Her brow furrowed with her confusion. “Is it against the rules?” But…sex wasn’t. Obviously. So touching shouldn’t have been, either.

“Those who have not experienced sexual desire do not like to be handled in any way, especially by humans. Those who have experienced desire will view your attention as a request for a bedding.”

And thereby ruin whatever good mood she’d managed to attain. “I won’t touch anyone but you, I promise.”

There was a heavy beat of silence. “That man, Dr. Fitzherbert, touched you without permission. In the ways I touched you last night?”

Just like that, a dark, sticky cloud tried to envelop her. Her shoulders curled in as every emotion she’d experienced inside the institution barraged her. Fear, shame, hatred, guilt, helplessness, sorrow, grief. But as quickly as they hit, they vanished. She absolutely refused to dwell on them, and shot each one with a mental bullet, killing it dead. Those things acted like a dinner bell for demons, and she refused to supply a buffet.

“Yes,” she said.

“Perhaps it is time he reaps what he has sown,” Zacharel said.

“Meaning…what?”

“I will force something terrible on him.”

Rather than thrill her, the vow worried her. She wanted Fitzpervert out of a position of authority and unable to hurt anyone else, but she wanted Zacharel safe far more. She’d brought enough trouble to his door already.

“Is that your job?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“No.” A grumble.

“Then you’ll get into big-time trouble for doing it. And don’t try to deny it. I distinctly remember you telling me that you weren’t allowed to harm humans.”

“Some actions are worth the trouble they bring.”

Doubtful! “I get doing all the damage you can to demons. They’re pure evil, they’ll never feel remorse for the terrible things they do and they’ll never change, will always try to hurt people. But harming a human isn’t necessary. That would make you no better than, well, Fitzpervert. He hurt me just because he could.” Fire flashed in his eyes, but still she persisted. “One day I’ll do what’s needed to let the world know what a monster Fitzpervert is, I promise. But I’ll do it the right way. So, I want you to tell me you’ll let this go, Zacharel…whatever your last name is. Do you even have a last name?”

“Come,” he said, ignoring her boast, her demand and her question. He released her wrist, only to snake his arm around her waist and draw her closer.

“Zacharel Come. That’s a terrible last name. I feel sorry for your wife, if you ever decide to marry.”

His lips twitched, and she thought, I performed that little miracle. I made him kinda sorta smile.

“We have much to do today, Annabelle.”

“So what? I told you. I’m not leaving until you’ve done a take back.”

He slid his hand up her back to toy with the ends of her hair. Then, “Give me time to think, at least,” he said. “I will not lie to you, which means you must allow me time to consider all my options.”

Sound logic. Also irritating and irrefutable. “Very well.” But she would prevail, and that was that, she thought, tying the end of the feather to the top of her corset. The gold gleamed prettily against the blue of the scrubs.

Zacharel’s eyes flared with a different kind of heat than before.

Anger? “What things do we have to do?” she asked. If he was mad, he was mad. He could deal.

“First, we shop.” His voice practically dripped with ice crystals.

O-kay, he was clearly more than out of sorts with her. What kept causing these split-second changes in him? Annabelle stepped away from him and crossed her arms over her middle. “I have another condition to my departure,” she said, tying the blade sheaths at her ankles. “You have to tell me what’s bothering you.” Commanding a warrior angel, Miller? I’d like to see you follow this one through.

“I don’t have to do your bidding, Annabelle.”

Once before he’d pointed out the differences in their abilities. He ruled by might and the power of the sword. She was a spunky little scrapper who talked a big game. He could force her to leave with him, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.

But last night he’d given her the right to question—and defy—him. “You will,” she said with all the determination she felt.

He flashed his teeth in a scowl and eased onto the edge of the bed. He rested his palms on his thighs. To stop himself from shaking her? “You will not like what I have to say.”

Dread knotted her stomach. “Say it anyway. I’m a big girl. I can take it.” Maybe. No. No, she couldn’t. He looked far too serious.

“You expect leniency from me now, but I cannot give it to you. We must track a demon high lord, and my attention cannot be divided. Yet even now, as I hold myself back from you, all I can think about is how soft you will feel if I embrace you, how much I enjoyed your cries in my ears and how easy it would be to strip and take you here and now.”

Oh…my. “Zacharel, I love hearing that.” Was weak-kneed because of it.

“Truly?” His gaze met hers, and she saw the fire banked there. “Because you will not be dealing with your lover this day, but your leader. When I issue an order, I will expect you to obey it without question.”

“Hello. I will absolutely—” Wait. On the surface, what he asked seemed reasonable. Only when she dug deeper was she able to discern that how they interacted today would determine how they interacted from now on. There would always be another demon to hunt. And, with her…consort out there, she would always be in danger.

Not that they’d always be together.

Anyway. If she acted the obedient little soldier today, Zacharel would always expect her to be an obedient little soldier. Perhaps even in bed. They would never be equals.

“Okay, listen up,” she said. “For four years I was told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, what medications to take, when to leave my room and when to stay in my room. If ever I disobeyed, I was disciplined harshly and then I was forced to do what I’d first been told. I will not have that kind of relationship with you. I would rather have no relationship at all.”

“You see. This is what I suspected would happen.” His knuckles leeched of color, and she suspected he was pressing into his thigh muscles with so much force he would have bruises for days, the swiftness of his healing no match for the extent of the damage. “If one of my men dared defy me, I would—”

“What? Beat him?” she finished for him. “Well, I’m not one of your men.”

“Beat him, yes. I have done that. I have done worse. And you want to be one of my men. You asked me to train you.”

“And so far you haven’t taught me a single thing.”

Silence, heavy and oppressive.

“Very well. Let’s remedy that.” He was on his feet an instant later, his arms snaking around her and lifting her off her own feet. She experienced that strange sense of weightlessness as he whisked her through wall after wall and into the garden outside.

Without any preamble, he dropped her on her butt. Air gusted from her lips, her brain rattling against her skull. People milled along pebbled paths, she noted, but they paid her and Zacharel no attention.

“Having an audience doesn’t change how I’ll treat you,” she grumbled softly. “If anything, you’ve earned yourself a full-on feminine assault.”

“They cannot see or hear us,” he said.

They couldn’t? “Hey, you,” she shouted, looking around. No one so much as twitched. Wow, they really couldn’t.

“By the way, if I wasn’t clear, I think you’re a turd,” she mumbled, jumping to her feet.

“You wanted to train, and so we will train.” As he spoke, his robe was transformed into a pair of loose black pants. No shirt. “But first…”

His sun-kissed skin darkened…darkened…taking on a crimson hue. Horns sprouted from his shoulders, his wings morphed into something hideous, a thin membrane wetted with blood, and a tail grew between his legs, a metal spike at its end.

A scream ripped from Annabelle’s throat. She withdrew the blades from their sheaths, and acting on instinct, lunged toward the creature straight from the depths of her nightmares, slashing at him. Horror, betrayal and shock blasted through her, turning her blood into toxic sludge. This thing was a demon, and he’d tricked her. All this time he’d tricked her, even gotten her into bed.

“You disgust me!” she shouted as she went for his throat.

Easily he latched on to her wrists, spun her and pinned her against the hard length of his body. “Calm down and think, Annabelle.”

Despite his grotesque appearance, his voice was the same, was Zacharel’s, and the knowledge caused some of her panic to flee.

“You still feel safe with me,” he continued. “You feel no hum of evil. I haven’t changed; I’ve simply changed your perception of me.”

Still she fought him, desperate to free herself.

He maintained a steady grip. “Calm down,” he repeated. “Think. You’ve seen me change my clothes in a blink. You’ve seen me change the color of my wings just as quickly. It is I, Zacharel, the man who held you in my arms, who kissed and touched you.”

The rest of her panic fled, and realization at last dawned. Her movements slowed…stilled…and she drew in a deep breath…exhaled….

When the demons came, they exuded a rotten scent and a sticky film of evil she couldn’t quite scour from her skin. With Zacharel, there was only that sky-rich fragrance and the warm caress of male flesh. “Why did you…change your…appearance?” Her mind might recognize the truth, but her body was still catching up, breath rasping from her lungs.

“I cannot train you to watch for a tail if I do not have a tail. And do you recall the time I told you it’s possible to overcome fear with action, that how you act is more important than what you feel? I want you to learn to act against a demon even if your heart is pounding and your knees knocking together.”

Okay. Okay, she could do this. “You can let go of me now. I’ll behave.”

“Why start now?” He pushed her enough to make her stumble. She twisted around, facing him, keeping the daggers at her sides. His eyes were still a mesmerizing green, and helped anchor her in reality rather than sinking into the past as that metal-spiked tail clanged back and forth, back and forth.

Her gaze lowered and she watched the thing slither along the ground, unable to help herself. “Did you just make a funny, Zacharel?”

“You tell me.”

Suddenly the tail struck out, winding around her ankle and jerking, but somehow not cutting into her skin. She fell, hard, and glared up at him.

“You should have jumped up immediately and tossed one of your daggers at me,” he said casually. “I could attack you right now, and you would have no defense.”

Uh, she could stab him—because she still had her daggers. He hadn’t been smart enough to take them away, so there. “Well, for starters, you didn’t tell me that I had permission to spill your guts.”

“And a demon will tell you such a thing? Give you such a warning?”

An excellent point. Embarrassed by her weakness and stupidity, she lumbered to her feet and grumbled, “So this is how you teach? Through trial and error?”

“You would not like my other method. Now. This time, when you see that I’m coming at you, act first.”

Got it. She waited, watching as his tail swished…swished…and launched toward her. As instructed, she jumped up, causing the spike to dance through the air. But he had expected her to do so and the tail changed direction, darting back toward her to again wind around her ankles and send her to her bottom.

Dang it! “Just so you know, I’m usually better. The fact that I’m alive should convince you of that.”

“No, the fact that you’re alive convinces me the demons weren’t actually trying to kill you. And just so you know, twice now I’ve killed you,” he said. “In battle, demons will always go for the dirty move. They will strike you from behind, kick you while you’re down, hit you where it hurts most.”

“Okay.” Up she stood. “All demons can suck it, so the next time you come at me, you’re gonna get it.”

“Good.” He offered no more warning than that, striking at her, his tail swiping, missing, swiping again, missing again.

With that final jump, she angled just enough to land on his tail, earning a yelp of pain from him. Grinning, she said, “Even though you’re a horrible teacher, I think I’m gonna like this lesson.”

His lips curled in the barest hint of a smile, a dimple there and gone, before he arced one of those beastly wings at her. Jumping up would do no good this time. The stupid appendage was too wide. She did the only thing she could. She spun low, swiping out with her dagger and cutting through the tissue.

He hissed out a breath and jerked the wing back into his side. Blood dripped down golden feathers—feathers soon replaced by black tissue as he fortified his image. For a moment, Annabelle worried she’d gone too far.

Then Zacharel nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent. I’m not such a horrible teacher, after all.”

“Actually, my instincts got you stabbed, not your majestic tutelage.”

Another hint of a smile. “I will endeavor to do better.”

“You mean I’m the first to complain?”

“No. But yours is one of two complaints I’m willing to heed.”

What a sweet thing to say. But that’s not going to stop me from hurting him during the next round. “And the other came from…?”

“My brother.”

So far, every time he’d mentioned his brother he’d shut down soon afterward. After last night, she hoped he would trust her with details about what had happened. “The brother you…killed?” She wanted to know more about him, this man she had welcomed into her bed.

“Yes.” He said no more, but the sadness in his tone said enough.

At least he hadn’t changed the subject. “Why did you do it?” Before, she’d speculated that it had been an accident. Now that she knew him better, she had big-time doubts. Zacharel was not someone prone to accidents. He was too guarded, too careful. He would have had a reason.

The ice shuttered back over his emerald gaze. “He was better off.”

Clearly that marked the end of the conversation. But…now she wondered if the brother had been sick. That’s usually what better off implied. Poor Zacharel. “Well, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Before the last word left her mouth, he was on her, his clawed hands shoving her down but not cutting her. Surprised, she flailed as she fell, loosening her hold on one of the daggers.

Between one blink and the next, his weight was pinning her in place, his hand manacling her arms above her head, rendering the weapon she did have useless. Argh! She bucked once, twice, but couldn’t dislodge him.

“If I were truly a demon,” he said with the same coldness she’d glimpsed in his eyes, “what would you do to escape me right now?”

“Bite you when you lean down.” As she’d had to do in the institution time after time.

“And risk swallowing tainted demon blood?”

Rocks filled her stomach, their edges sharp. “What happens when you swallow tainted demon blood?”

“You sicken.”

His tone implied you could die. Trying not to panic, she thought back over the past four years. The only times she’d gotten sick were due to overdoses of the drugs the staff had forced on her. So, she must not have swallowed any of the blood. Right?

“Pay attention to me.” He gripped her shoulders and shook her. “To free yourself, you are to stab one of my horns.”

“Okay, but not all demons have horns.”

“And I will show you how to fight the hornless next time. Today, you learn how to deal with horns.”

In other words, concentrate on the here and now.

“But you’re holding my hands captive.”

“And you cannot somehow trick me into loosening my grip?

Well, yeah. Him, she could. But someone else? “Let’s say I manage it. Wouldn’t the dagger just lodge there, leaving me without any kind of weapon?” Teeth were no longer an option—ever.

“Yes, and that’s the point. The hard outer shell protects a soft, vulnerable center. If you cut into the nerves properly, you can paralyze the demon for several seconds, sometimes even minutes.”

Now, there was a tip she could use.

“All right. Let’s test this theory of yours.”

Just as she geared up to trick him into loosening his grip, three enormous shadows fell over them and Zacharel leapt off her. Thinking the demons had found her, she scrambled to her feet. Rather than a misshapen enemy horde, however, she saw the blond warrior from the institution—Thane. He appeared and landed at her left, white wings threaded with gold outstretched.

At her right appeared a robed warrior with hair and scarred skin the same shade of white. The only color he possessed was in the red eyes even now glaring at her.

Directly in front of her was the biggest male alive—possibly ever created—his skin the most luscious shade of gold she’d ever seen, his eyes a rainbow of brilliant colors.

“We’ve been searching for you, Zacharel,” Thane said. “We tried to reach you mentally, but you failed to respond.”

Interesting that he recognized Zacharel, even in this form. Interesting, too, that he had called her angel by his name rather than Majesty, as he’d done at the institution.

“I had closed myself to receiving.”

Like switching off a phone?

“Shall we change our visage, as well, and join the party?” Thane looked over Zacharel’s demon skin and frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He turned to his companions. “He’s bleeding.”

“She cut him,” the rainbow-eyed guy said, his incredulity unmatched. “Her blade still drips.”

The scarred guy took a menacing step toward her.

She braced her legs apart, ready to greet him. “You want to taste my blade, too? ’Cause I’ll let you if you try and challenge me.”

Zacharel moved in front of her. In a blink, the demon visage was gone, his dark hair, sun-kissed skin and robe returned. “No one touches the girl. Ever. Anyone does, and he will die.”

“Yeah,” she said, jumping in front of him—only to be pushed back. “He’ll die.” Would no one ever look at her and think she’s innocent?

All three men gaped first at Zacharel, then at her. Then one by one they nodded. And if she wasn’t mistaken, they cast each other sly, amused glances. That amusement baffled her.

“Two shockers in one day,” Thane said. “First, concern for my commander. Second, watching a tiny fluff of nothing act as his protector. Are you ashamed, Zacharel?”

Zacharel tossed her a this is your fault glare.

She shrugged, not sorry in the least.

“Well, now that we know Zacharel is so well guarded,” the rainbow-eyed warrior said in a sneering tone, “we have business to attend to.” Any lingering amusement vanished. “We thought you’d like to know that the demons that attacked your cloud were sent by Burden and we now have his location.”

Zacharel reached back and clasped Annabelle’s hand, as if he needed to assure himself she was there and she was well.

The one with red eyes perused Annabelle up and down before dismissing her. “He’s at the Black Veil. We tracked him down, but did not have an opportunity to fight him. He let us know that he has Jamila, then he demanded ‘the weak and vulnerable Annabelle’ in trade—and don’t try to gainsay me, female,” he added without looking her way. “You are.”

“Am not,” she grumbled. She so was, when compared to these creatures.

To Zacharel, he continued with a clenched jaw, “He also said that if you go with an angel escort, he will behead Jamila. If you refuse to go, he will behead Jamila.”

Annabelle translated: in essence, Zacharel was screwed.