Wicked Nights

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ZACHAREL HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED anything as consuming as being with Annabelle. No matter what they did, as long as they were together, touching, seeking, he was swept up, undone. Remade.

Afterward, apprehension would attempt to overtake him.

She made him feel too much. He wanted her too desperately. A relationship could never work, not permanently as he craved—as he would have for as long as possible.

When his month on earth was over, he would ask her to move into his cloud. She would say yes. He would accept no other answer.

“So, what now?” she asked him around a yawn.

“We sleep.”

“Nope. Sorry, but I already knew the answer and that wasn’t it. Now we talk. I want to know more about you.”

Such soft, smooth skin she had. Her light, floral scent cast a silken net around him, the gossamer threads somehow stronger than anything he’d ever before encountered. “Such as?”

“Well, here’s what I already know. You were born rather than created. You had a twin brother, but for some reason you won’t explain, you had to kill him.”

He waited for her to continue.

She sighed. “Okay, so you aren’t ready to take my hint and talk about him yet. What else do I know? Oh, yeah. You have a black spot growing on your chest, and it concerns me. You lead an army of angels, and I think you’re just now discovering how much you respect your own men.”

“First, do not be concerned with the spot. Second, what makes you think I respect my men?”

“Nice try. Like I wouldn’t notice you didn’t say the spot was nothing for me to be worried about, only that I wasn’t to be concerned. I’m on to your tricks, buddy.”

“That will not change my response.”

“Anyway. From the day at the institution to the day those three angels found us in New Zealand, your entire demeanor and tone have changed with them. Well, changed slightly. But with you, slight is major.”

Very observant, his Annabelle. “Yes, I do respect my men. When I needed them most, they came through for me. I was told they were unfit for the heavens, that they were too violent, too irreverent to handle their duties, but I no longer believe that is so. They have each suffered in some way, and they have dealt with their pain the only way they know how.” As he had.

“I’m with you. I’ve only met a few of the guys, and granted, they all looked pretty dangerous, but there was something remarkable about them. Something worth fighting for.”

He liked that she defended those under his charge. “What else do you know about me?”

“Only one other thing. That you’re friends with a group of demon-possessed warriors.”

“And you want to know more?” He weighed everything she’d said she knew about him against everything she’d hinted that she wanted to know. “What do you want to know first? The difference between the born and created angels, or how my association with the demon possessed came to be?”

Another sigh left her, this one warm and sweet and ripe with understanding. She understood that he had struck his brother completely from the conversation, yet she didn’t push. “The difference between the born and the created, please.”

He should not share his secrets. And to willingly, happily do so when so much danger surrounded them? Even worse. But he wanted to share all that he was, so that in turn, she would share all that she was.

Haidee’s earlier words suddenly played through his mind. Your woman needs to be one of the most important things in your life. Above your job, definitely. Her brother turned his back on her, and her boyfriend dumped her. She hasn’t experienced unconditional love in so long, you’ll crush her if you keep her without committing to her.

As he’d told Haidee, he was committed. He just wasn’t sure how to show Annabelle how important she was to him. He had to place his army first. He had to place his duty first.

“Uh, Zachie?”

How bad was it that he’d even grown to like the shortened version of his name, as long as it sprang from this woman’s lips? “The born are only part of the Deity’s troops and must be protected the first decade of their lives,” he said. “They are weak, and must be taught to eat, to walk, to fly.”

“Look at me, Zacharel! Look how high I’m flying!”

“You’re doing so well, Hadrenial. I’m proud of you.”

“Like humans,” Annabelle said, “minus the flying, of course.”

“Yes.” He toyed with a lock of her hair. “The created were strong from the moment they first blinked open their eyes, but they never quite learned to understand the humans they were meant to safeguard. But that is why both the born and the created are useful. They excel in different areas, one picking up the other’s slack.”

“Who created them?”

“The Most High.”

Despite his status, Zacharel had never come to understand or sympathize with the humans. He had grown out of his weakness, but the humans had never seemed to do so. They had reminded him of grains of sand—there, but easily lost in the masses and forgotten.

What about the human in your arms? She is not weak, and you will never forget her.

No, she wasn’t, and no, he wouldn’t.

The warmth of her breath caressed his chest. “I’m trying to imagine little Zacharel. Were you allowed to play games as a child?”

“No. Hadrenial and I had duties, even then. When we weren’t training, we acted as messengers and scouts, and sometimes even served as escorts for human spirits to their eternal home.”

Hadrenial had hated that part of their life.

“Look how her loved ones cry over her loss. I can’t bear to see so much pain.”

“They will see each other again. One day.”

“Will they? What if one goes to heaven, and the other to hell?”

“We will not be to blame. They will.”

“Surely there’s something we can do to help them, to make sure.”

Zacharel had wanted to take over the duty of escorting the spirits completely, but he hadn’t allowed himself to do so. He’d hoped his brother would eventually become desensitized to it, that he would no longer feel the tenderness that had shadowed every aspect of his life.

He was wrong.

“I’m so sorry,” Annabelle said, drawing him back to the present.

He tensed, afraid he had accidentally spoken the long-ago conversation aloud. “Why?”

“You were deprived. Every child, even an angel warrior-in-training, deserves to relax and have fun.” A warm chuckle left her. “My brother and I used to play hide-and-seek in the house, and one time I hid a little too well. He looked for me for over an hour, and ultimately I fell asleep. He asked my parents for help, and the way they tell it, they tore the house up searching for me. When they couldn’t find me, either, they called the cops, thinking I’d been kidnapped.”

The joy in her voice… I want to make her feel that way. “Where were you?”

“In the dryer, snuggled up with the still-warm towels.” Another chuckle, sparkling like champagne. “Maybe one day you and I can play. We’ll—” She stopped, just stopped.

Assuming something was wrong, Zacharel held out his hand, preparing to summon his sword of fire while at the same time scanning the room. No demon jumped from the shadows or misted through the walls, and he relaxed.

“Never mind,” she said. “So anyway, how’d you become friends with those demon-possessed men?”

She’d stopped herself because she’d wanted to speak of the future, their future, but had thought better of it.

“You will stay with me, Annabelle,” he said.

“For now,” she replied.

“Far longer.”

“I know. For our month.”

That sounded like the beginning of a brush-off speech. “You are planning to leave me afterward?” he ground out.

“Well, yeah. And why are you suddenly so cranky? My plan should make you happy.”

“I am not happy.”

“But you said you wanted to part after our month on earth.”

“I said no such thing. You will stay with me and that’s final.”

“Actually, no, I—”

He spoke over her. “Now I will tell you my story.” He didn’t pause, didn’t give her a chance to talk over him. “One of the warriors was being tormented by hundreds of demon minions. Because of that, he was inadvertently poisoning those around him. I was part of another army at the time, and we were sent in to save him, or kill him if we couldn’t. His friends…protested. I had never before interacted with their kind, and soon realized they’d fought their demons, were still fighting the demons every day, somehow braver, better, more honorable than others I’d encountered. They would never allow the evil to dominate their lives.”

“Well, you’re brave and honorable, too, Zacharel.”

He did not taste a lie. She truly thought so. “Then why would you wish to leave me?”

“Because” was all the stubborn woman would say.

Because she did not know the truth about him?

He had never spoken of the events that had led to Hadrenial’s death. Not to another angel, not even to his Deity. But he would tell Annabelle, he decided. He would tell her everything. She would finally know, and they could build some kind of future from there.

“My brother was abducted. We were together, escorting a spirit to the heavens when a horde of demons attacked us. I fought them, and I thought Hadrenial managed to whisk the spirit to safety. But…” He swallowed a mouthful of bitter regret. “Though the spirit made it to the heavens, Hadrenial did not. He had simply disappeared.”

She traced a heart over the smudge on his chest. “Not knowing what happened must have been torturous.”

“Yes. I searched. For an entire year I searched, yet there was never a sign of him. I interrogated every demon I could, and always they denied knowledge of him. But then, one day, I came home and he was there. Just…there, tied to my bed. He was a mere shell of himself, for his captors had starved and beaten him. Worse, they had pitted his morals against his need to survive. For every scrap of food, every day without a fist in his face or gut, he had to do something reprehensible, like hurt a human they threw into the cell with him.”

Warm liquid dripped onto his chest, and he knew tears were sliding down Annabelle’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

“I am not the one who was forced to endure such misery.”

“But you were miserable.”

“Not like my brother.”

“Pain is pain.” She kissed the center of the heart she’d traced. “Did you remain celibate all of these years because of what he endured? He found no pleasure in life, and so you wouldn’t, either?”

“No. Of course…not,” he said, catching himself there at the end. He had never thought about it that way, but stated so bluntly, he found it hard to deny. “I do not know.”

“When I was first arrested and taken to the institution, I didn’t fight back when other patients harassed me. I didn’t argue with my doctors, and I took every pill handed to me. I wanted to be numb, but more than that, I had seen how much my parents suffered and knew I had failed them in every way, so I felt like I deserved whatever bad things happened to me.”

“You were a child. What more could you have done?”

“Like you were a child when your twin was taken?”

His jaw clenched painfully. She was trying to absolve him of his own wrongdoing. While he liked that she tried, there was a difference in their stories. She had fought for her parents’ lives; he had taken his brother’s.

“Hadrenial begged me to kill him. I couldn’t do it, though. Not at first. I loved him with all that I was, and I finally had him back. I thought he would heal, and physically he did. But he was determined to die and kept hurting himself in the worst of ways. Kept hurting others in an attempt to force them to act against him. I knew one day he would succeed and if that happened, his spirit would be cast into hell. I would never again see him.”

“So you finally did it.” Her voice was layered with sadness.

“Yes. I killed him to save him.”

He expected disgust. He expected horror. Instead, Annabelle calmly asked, “And also ensured you would one day be together?”

“No,” he croaked. “He did not wish to live, even in the afterlife. I ensured he experienced the true death. I poisoned his spirit.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Like humans, we are spirits, the source of life. We have a soul, or the embodiment of our logic and emotions—and we live in a body.”

“So…what is the spirit if it’s not the same as the soul?”

“The soul is the middleman, so to speak, intertwined with both the spirit and the body. Without the spirit, the body could not survive, for the spirit is the outlet, where the electricity awaits, the soul is the plug, and the body is that which is propelled into action. Make sense?”

“Yes.”

“For a true death, you must destroy all three. I poured water from the River of Death down his throat, killing both spirit and soul, and then burned his body.” And yet, some small part of Zacharel still hoped for the best, imagining that Hadrenial had not truly died even then, but that his spirit had passed into the Most High’s kingdom, where he awaited Zacharel’s death so they could be reunited one day.

“I’m sorry, Zacharel. The agony of such a choice…the pain of such a loss…”

If he said any more, he would break down. He sensed it, grief churning deep in his gut, ready to spill out. “Sleep now, Annabelle.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tomorrow you must face your brother.”

BY MORNING, HOLDING ANNABELLE in his arms had sharpened Zacharel’s newfound need into a deadly edge. She had tossed and turned, rubbing her body against his, tracing her hands all over him.

He had done nothing about it. And he wouldn’t, not until he had her pledge to remain with him.

While she showered—and he fought the urge to join her—he summoned Thane and commanded the warrior to procure for her a pink T-shirt and a pair of jeans, as well as new undergarments. Also in pink. Zacharel wanted to see her in the feminine color, and so he would. It was as simple as that.

To his utter bafflement, Thane already had the desired clothing in one of his air pockets. As Zacharel removed the tags, he wondered if the items had been meant for the man’s lovers.

“Do you have an extra set?” Just in case.

“Of course.” Thane handed him the clothing, and Zacharel placed the extra in an air pocket.

“She’ll need these, too, I’m sure,” Thane said, handing him two bejeweled blades.

He claimed them, saying, “Wait here.” Leaving Thane on the balcony, he deposited the first set of clothing in the bathroom, the air thick and misty and smelling of floral shampoo. Even sweeter, Annabelle was singing off-key.

“Loves like a hurricane, something, something, something, bending beneath the weight, something, something, mercy.”

She did not know all the words, he realized, and had to fight a grin. Adorable. But what struck him deepest was that she sounded…happy.

He left before she caught him listening—and enjoying—and returned to the balcony. The door was still open, the chill of dawn seeping inside.

Thane stood on the edge of the railing, at the ready.

“Your next mission is food for her,” Zacharel said.

“I’m her servant now?”

“No. You are mine.”

A pause. “Why am I not offended by this?” the warrior murmured. “Why am I actually enjoying myself?” White wings threaded with gold exploded into motion, and Thane disappeared in the air. He wasn’t gone long, ten minutes at the most, yet he returned carrying a sack overflowing with breads, cheeses and fruits.

“Thank you.”

A gleam of surprise in Thane’s sapphire eyes, followed by a respectful incline of his head. “Anytime. I think.”

Zacharel rattled off an address. “Make sure the owner is home. If he’s not, wait for him. Once you have verified his presence and I have taken your place, you are free for the rest of the day.”

Another thank-you, and Thane again disappeared.

And just as Annabelle emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, He is home whispered through his head.

He meant to acknowledge the words, and would have, if he hadn’t been struck dumb. He could only stare at Annabelle. The steam formed a cloud around her, creating a dream haze. She had dried her hair, the mass hanging down her arms, straight as a board. Pink cotton clung to lush breasts. I’ve had my mouth on those. The jeans kissed her legs with erotic abandon. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Thane had nailed her sizes.

She looked so young and fresh, so…innocent. “You like?” she asked.

“More than like. You are beautiful.”

“I can’t take full credit. It’s the pink.”

“It’s the woman.”

Slowly she grinned. “Someone is on his best behavior today.” She glanced at the table piled high with the food, then back at him. “I’m too nervous to eat.”

“You must keep your strength up. I will tolerate no excuses.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said with a sassy salute. “And by the way, I take back my best behavior comment.”

“There can be no take backs.”

“Can, too.”

He supposed, now that he’d licked every inch of her, the nature of their relationship would never be the same. She’d tried to warn him; she would never take his orders, and he would just have to like it.

As long as he had her, he would like it.

She picked at the food for half an hour before he grabbed her hand and a banana and led her outside, using an air pocket to shield her from prying eyes. By the time they reached her brother’s home, she’d managed to choke down half the fruit. Not good enough, but it would have to do.

He caught a glimpse of Thane, who was in the process of flying away, when he landed on the porch. Though Zacharel wanted to whisk inside the home, Annabelle insisted they knock and wait for an invitation to enter. Manners. Such a novelty. But Zacharel suspected the brother would not open the door to her, and for that reason, he made sure only his face was noticeable through the windows and peephole by keeping Annabelle hidden.

“Maybe we should go,” Annabelle said, rubbing at the center of her chest.

She did that every time she was nervous. Or scared. Why? “He will not hurt you. I will not let him.”

Her crystalline gaze was grave. “There are a thousand different ways to hurt someone, Zacharel.”

That, he knew well. “There are also a thousand different ways to heal. Trust me in this. Your faith is out there. You said you expect a relationship with your brother to bloom, and you are even beginning to believe it, whether you realize it or not. That’s why you’re here. So, even when it doesn’t look like it’s going your way, continue to believe. If you do not give up, you will see results.”

As he rapped his knuckles against the wood, his robe became a plain white T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting drawstring pants. He waited one minute, two, then knocked again. When that failed to gain results, he rang the doorbell over and over again. He knew Brax Miller was inside; Thane would not have let him leave.

Finally a voice snapped, “I’m coming, jeez.” Footsteps pounded, and in the next blink hinges were squeaking and a tall, leanly muscled male in his mid-twenties was opening the door.

Brax possessed the same blue-black hair as Annabelle, only his was cut short and shaggy. He had uptilted eyes of gold rather than crystalline blue. The eyes Annabelle had once had, Zacharel would bet.

“Yeah?” the man said. He was shirtless, his jeans hastily tugged on and gaping around his waist.

Beside him, Annabelle sucked in a breath. Not that the human heard. He couldn’t sense her in any way. “You are Brax Miller.” A man who had inherited a lot of money after his parents’ death. Money he would blow through entirely within the next year, according to the report Thane had brought him all those days ago—the one detailing Annabelle’s life, as well as her remaining family’s.

“So?” His jaw held the faintest trace of a beard, and his eyes were red-rimmed, lines of tension branching from them. Not from lack of sleep, either. The scent of alcohol and…Zacharel sniffed…heroin seeped from his pores. Wonderful. He was a drug addict, his memory probably tainted.

Didn’t matter. Zacharel had to try. “So you will let me in, and we will discuss your sister.”

A terrible stillness came over the man. His reaction to the ring of truth in Zacharel’s tone, perhaps. Next, a terrible mix of emotion detonated inside those golden eyes, and he snarled, “I don’t have a sister!” He attempted to slam the door in Zacharel’s face, but Zacharel shoved his foot between the door and its frame.

“We gave your way a try,” he said to Annabelle. “Now it’s time for my way.” He flattened his palm on Brax’s chest and pushed. Just a little push, but the man flew backward and slammed into the foyer wall.

Zacharel shouldered through the door, kicking the thing shut after dragging Annabelle in with him. As the addict jumped to his feet, intending to launch himself into an attack, Zacharel removed the air hiding Annabelle from view.

Brax caught himself, stumbled forward, then back. For a moment, he could only stutter over the words Annabelle and institution and here.

“Surprise. I’m out,” she said, unmistakably dejected.

“Believe,” Zacharel snapped at her.

She gulped, nodded. “And I’m happy to see you. One day, you’ll be happy to see me.”

Her brother gathered his wits, squared his shoulders. “What are you doing here? Your escape has been all over the news, but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come to me.”

In a blink, Zacharel had a hand wrapped around Brax’s throat and his body pinned against the wall, his legs dangling. Until her faith was made manifest, he would have to ensure Brax behaved himself. “You will watch the way you speak to her, or you will suffer.”

A soft hand on his shoulder, a beseeching voice in his ear. “Zacharel. Let him down, please. Despite everything, I love him the way you love Hadrenial. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

Golden eyes widened, bulged, really, as Zacharel increased the pressure. “Just a little longer. He disrespected you.”

“Think about what he’s been through, though. He saw the bodies in our garage, he saw the blood. Then he had to relive it when the police showed him pictures of the crime scene. He thinks I’m responsible.”

Brax’s lips were turning blue. Still Zacharel held on.

“All right, how about this?” she said. “We have questions and he might have answers. Remember? And if you kill him, my faith won’t have a chance to change things.”

“Oh, very well.” Zacharel opened his fingers, causing the man to collapse onto the tiled floor.

“I won’t…help you…escape,” Brax said between gasps for air.

Her chin lifted, making her the picture of stubbornness he remembered from so early in their relationship. “I don’t need your help.”

Brax released a bitter laugh, and climbed to his feet. “Are you here to again tell me that monsters slaughtered Mom and Dad, then?”

Her chin lifted higher. “Not monsters, plural. Monster, singular. But, no. All I want to know is what you did the few days leading up to their murder. Anything unusual, like visiting a psychic or playing with a Ouija board?”

He scowled at her. “I don’t care what your friend does to me. You’re crazier than I suspected if you think I’ll talk to you about this.”

“You were warned,” Zacharel said before Annabelle had time to react. He smiled, but it was not the kind smile Annabelle could wring from him. It was the cruelest of all. His wings flared from his back as he grabbed Brax by the waist. “You don’t care what I do to you? Well, let’s see if I can change your mind.”