Wicked Nights

The Council had reluctantly given in. With the amount of demon activity plaguing the world, warriors of their caliber were in high demand. Still, Zacharel doubted such a threat would ever work again.

“There will be no reprimand,” he said, and Bjorn blinked in surprise.

Zacharel’s gaze caught on the serpe demon even then slithering over the railing in an attempt to escape notice. Serpes possessed the head and torso of a human but the lower body of a snake, and were more temperamental than the two combined.

Leaning over, Zacharel grabbed the thick, rattling tail and jerked. The serpe twisted, fangs bared, arms raised to attack whoever had dared stop him. Zacharel maintained a tight hold, winding its length along his forearm while using his free hand to latch on to the demon’s neck. He squeezed.

Crimson eyes widened with alarm as talon-tipped fingers slashed at him. “Not Zacharel, anyone but Zacharel! I go back, I go back, I ssswear.”

Finally, respect for his authority.

“This one will do,” he told Bjorn. “You may continue with your duties.”

The angel inclined his head even as his eyes glazed with bafflement. But he said nothing more, instead springing back into battle.

“Pleassse! I go!”

The demons might have been unable to enter the building for whatever reason, but Zacharel had no such problem. He commanded his body, as well as the serpe’s, to mist, and the two of them sank through the stone. Seconds later, Zacharel stood on the building’s bottom floor.

Forgetting who held him, the serpe sighed with bliss and reached up toward the ceiling. “Time for my fun…”

Zacharel tossed the demon across the lobby’s freshly polished floor. Multiple security guards patrolled the area and several human females manned the desk, but not a single one noticed the intruders in their midst.

Up the walls the serpe slinked, ghosting through the ceiling and disappearing from view. Following him proved easy. Zacharel moved from floor to floor, a mere step behind. Finally the serpe ceased climbing, shooting into one of the rooms on level fourteen.

Inside, the walls were covered with black padding. There were no windows. A single vent in the ceiling provided the only breeze, and a frigid one at that. The room was barren except for one lone piece of furniture. A hospital gurney, with… a young woman strapped to the top.

Every muscle in his body knotted. For a moment, the past threatened to rise up and swallow him whole.

Kill me, Zacharel. You have to kill me. Please.

Long ago he’d built a dam to hold back his memories of the past, a barrier he’d desperately needed. Would always need, it seemed. He refortified that dam now, blanking his mind of anything but the present.

At first glance, the woman appeared to be asleep. But then her head lolled to the side, her attention seemingly ensnared by the demon she shouldn’t be able to see. Horror, anger and fear suddenly pulsed from her.

Had she, a mere human, somehow sensed the serpe?

Zacharel considered her. She wore a paper-thin gown, dirty and torn, her slender frame shivering. Long hair tangled around a delicate face, the strands so black they appeared to be a breathtaking midnight-blue. Dark circles marred the fragile skin under her eyes, and her cheeks were more hollowed than they should have been, not to mention terribly bruised and scratched. Her lips were red, chapped. Her eyes were ice-blue, and in their depths he saw a never-ending storm of pain no human was equipped to bear.

No, those eyes did not belong to a mortal, he realized. They belonged to a demon’s consort.

Somewhere out there was a demon high lord—the most dangerous of all hell’s fiends—who considered this human his exclusive property. His to possess, his to torture… his to enjoy in whatever fashion he desired. The demon had poisoned her eyes, marking her, ensuring she could see into the spiritual world that coexisted alongside the mortal one. His world. In doing so, he had brought her to the attention of other demons, as well.

She had to have been a willing participant in her marking, for humans could not be forced. Seduced, yes. Tricked, absolutely. Eager to dabble in the dark arts, beyond a doubt. But never forced.

Had the high lord grown tired of her? Was that why she was here without him? No, Zacharel decided a second later. A demon never grew tired of his human. He stuck around until the bitter, bloody end—or until the human wised up and forced him to leave.

So… why not kill her and try to hide his crime? Demon and mortal pairings were forbidden, the act carrying a sentence of death. The demon’s and the human’s. Not that Zacharel or any of his men would kill this one. That still was not on today’s menu. There would be no collateral damage.

“Stay away from me,” she said, drawing Zacharel out of his mind. Her voice was raspy, either from drugs or strain. Or was that her natural tone? “I’m a terrible enemy to have.”

For someone who had agreed to bond her life to a demon’s, she did not sound happy with the results. He was willing to bet she had been seduced or tricked, and now regretted it.

Humans so rarely learned until too late, yet it didn’t have to be that way.

“I’ll hurt you if you come any closer.” She clearly possessed Japanese ancestry, yet her voice held no hint of an accent. Odd in a way, but all the more exotic because of the lack. Soft and lilting, and the perfect contrast to her bold features.

“Hurt me, female. Pleassse…” Tail rattling a fatal rhythm, the serpe slithered around the bed. His forked tongue darted between his fangs. “That’sss what I like—before every sssnack.”

The minion wanted her, not because of her but because creatures of the underworld loved nothing more than one-upping their brethren. Bragging rights were as valuable as gold, as was the accompanying sense of superiority. Well, that, and the thrill of ruining someone who was supposed to be under the protection of the heavens.

Tensing, the female said, “Touch me once, just once, and I’ll find a way out of these restraints. I’ll remove your head. I’ve decapitated your kind before, you know. Maybe even friends of yours, eh?”

An interesting response, going deeper than mere regret.

The brave words earned a hiss of anticipation. “You lie, you lie, you delight me asss you lie. Ssso deliciousss.”

“I’m serious! If you think a little thing like shackles will stop me, you’re more brain damaged than I thought. And news flash—I thought your IQ was in the single digits.”

She gazed left, right, as though searching for someone to help her. While the female could see the serpe, she could not see Zacharel. That wasn’t exactly a revelation—if he did not wish to be sensed, he would not be sensed; not by a demon, or a demon’s consort, or even by other angels.

Curious about her reaction to him, Zacharel materialized in his natural form, at the same time creating a sword of fire from nothing but the air. His gaze never leaving the female, he slashed, decapitating the demon and ending its miserable existence. Yes, killing was that easy for him. He dismissed the flames.

“What—How—” Crystalline eyes found him and widened. Her teeth began chattering. “A-am I dreaming? The drugs… I have to be tripping. Or dreaming, maybe. Yes, that makes sense.”

“It does not, for you are not.”

“Are you sure? You look like the prince I once… uh, never mind.”

She once… what? “I am positive.”

“Then wh-who are you? What are you? How did you get in here?”

Despite her questions, she seemed to know that he was not like the creature he had just defeated. Demons did their best to evoke fear. Angels did their best to evoke a sense of calm. Or rather, they were supposed to.

“What are you?” the female asked again. “Are you here to kill me?”

Kill me, Zacharel. You have to kill me. Please. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s too much, too hard. Please!

Again the past threatened to rise up and consume him. Again he blanked his mind. Though he owed the female no explanation, though she was a demon’s consort and couldn’t be trusted, he found himself saying, “I will not kill you. I am an angel.”

As with all the Deity’s angels, Zacharel’s voice held an undeniable ring of truth. Typical of her kind, she flinched at its purity—but she could not doubt him.

Blinking rapidly, she said, “An angel. As in, an angel from heaven, defender of all that’s good and right?”

Perhaps she could doubt him. Her tone had been sneering. But he found it interesting that she did not spew the same hate at him that she had spewed at the demon. As the mate of a high lord, she should despise Zacharel above all others. That she didn’t… Definitely tricked.

“Well?”

“Yes, I am from the heavens, though I am probably not the race of angel you are familiar with.” He stretched his wings. Snowflakes continued to fall from him. His feathers were once again pearlescent, the gold threaded between each one shimmering. He frowned when he noticed the gold was thicker than ever before.

Thousands of years had passed, and his feathers had never changed color, for such a change usually indicated that an elevation of status was in the works. For those under the Deity’s charge, only the Elite Seven were blessed with wings of solid gold. Joy-bringers were characterized by wings of solid white. Warriors such as Zacharel possessed the white with mere traces of the gold. But what he had now was more than a trace.

There had to be some other explanation. Much as he’d hoped otherwise, his Deity had said nothing to him about rising to the level of the Elite. And he was hardly in a position to be considered for an advancement, anyway, when he was fighting so staunchly to keep the title he did have.

“There’s more than one race?” she asked after looking him over. “Never mind. Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you’re not a nice-looking man. And I’m not talking about your sexiness factor.”

“No. I’m not nice.” Humans often pictured angels as soft, cuddly beings who frolicked in the sunshine, made roses bloom and painted rainbows in the sky. He knew that. And some angels were, but so many were not.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Mean?”

He should not have allowed curiosity to get the better of him. Should not have opened this line of conversation.

That ended now. “Enough, human. You have picked up more trouble than you can currently carry. I do not suggest you seek any more.”

“Well, what do you know?” she said with a laugh devoid of amusement. The pink tip of her tongue swiped over her lips. “The doctors finally got something right. I’m hallucinating. Only in my mind would an angel treat someone so poorly.”

“I have not treated you poorly, and you are not hallucinating.”

“The drugs are affecting my brain, then,” she insisted.

“They are not.”

“But… you can’t be an angel. Only evil comes here.”

“Wrong again.” At least today.

“I… I… Okay, I can roll with this. I mean, why not. Let’s say you’re actually real—”

“I am.”

“—and that you’re one of the good guys, since you’re not here to kill me. Are you here to… release me?”

She had asked the question with such sweet hesitation, he knew she dared not hope he would rescue her, yet with every ounce of her being she wanted to believe escape was imminent.

Perhaps another man would have been moved by her plight, but not Zacharel. He’d seen suffering in all its forms. He’d caused suffering in all its forms. Had watched his friends, immortals who should have lived forever, die.

Had watched his twin brother die.

Hadrenial, his twin, his only treasure, now resting in an urn on his nightstand. He’d been identical to Zacharel in appearance, with the same black hair and green eyes, the same sculpted face and strong body. Yet, emotionally they’d been complete opposites. Though only minutes younger, Hadrenial had seemed years younger. So innocent and sweet, so kind and caring, beloved by all.

“I cannot stand to see the humans cry, Zacharel. We must help them. Somehow, someway.”

“That is not our purpose, brother. We are warriors, not joy-bringers.”

“Why can’t we be both?”

Zacharel’s hands curled into fists. You must stop thinking of him. Pondering what had happened would not change a single detail. It was what it was. Beautiful and ugly. Wonderful and terrible.

He forced his mind onto the female and her plight—but he decided not to answer the question about her release. “Do you know the name of the demon who marked you?”

Disappointment mixed with bitter acceptance flashed in her eyes. “Maybe you are real,” she said. “It would require a dark side I don’t have to create someone like you.”

“You forgot to say ‘no offense’ before making that statement.”

“No, I didn’t. I meant offense.”

Bold little human, wasn’t she? “Shall I repeat my question?” he asked, in case she’d missed it the first time.

“No. I remember. You want to know if I know the name of the—” Her eyes widened, the disappointment and acceptance changing to shock. She whispered, “Demon,” the revelation seeming to affect her far more potently than when she’d learned of his origins. “As in, a demon that belongs in hell?”

“Yes.”

“A vile being whose only purpose is to ruin human lives?”

“Yes.”

“A hideous creature without an ounce of light, only darkness and evil?”

“Exactly.”

“I should have known,” she breathed. “Demons. All this time I’ve been fighting demons, and I never realized it.” Relief joined the shock, both dripping from her words. “I’m not crazy, and we’re not alone. I told them, but the only two people who ever believed me were the schizophrenic abducted by aliens and his invisible friend. I told them!”

“Human, you will answer me now.”

“I told them,” she continued blithely. “I just had no idea I was fighting demons. I should have guessed, though, but I got stuck on vampires and mythological monsters, and then hallucinations, so I—”

“Human!” Do not raise your voice to her. There would be no way to explain to his Deity that he hadn’t meant to scare her to death.

She shook her head, pulling herself from her clearly whirling thoughts with the same determination he had used. To her credit, she appeared far from cowed by him. “I can’t answer you because I have no idea what you’re talking about. A demon marked me? How? Why?”

Genuine confusion. He knew it was, for the lies others told always tasted bitter on his tongue, and just then the only thing he tasted was… the sweetness of her scent? A subtle hint of rose and bergamot seeping from her skin, that smooth expanse of bronzed cream.

That he’d noticed such an unimportant detail irritated him. “You do not recall agreeing to mate with a demon, by fair means or foul?” he asked.

“Never!” The long length of her black lashes fused together, her gaze lancing at him. “And now it’s my turn for an answer. Are you here to save me or not?”

If she was strong enough to insist on an answer, when she had already guessed at the truth, she was strong enough to hear the response. “No. I am not.” But he would have liked to remain with her long enough to solve the mystery of her marking. When had it happened? Who had done it? How had she been tricked?

The details do not matter. The end result matters.

She choked out a laugh as bitter as her earlier acceptance. “Of course you’re not. Why should I ever have hoped otherwise?”

Hinges creaked as the steel door was suddenly thrown open. Zacharel shielded himself from prying eyes, and the female tensed. A baton-wielding guard stepped aside to allow a human male to stride into the room, a thick folder in hand. He was of average height for a human, missing quite a bit of hair and bearing a falsely sympathetic expression. A white coat draped his thin build, the material stained by small spots of dried blood.

“She puts up a good fight,” the man said, “but she’s restrained and she can’t hurt me. Pay no attention to what you hear. Also, this therapy session will take some time, so don’t come back in until I signal you.”

The guard cast the female a sympathetic glance, but in the end, he nodded. “Whatever you say, Doc.” He closed the door, shutting the newcomer inside.

Zacharel told himself to leave. Not even joy-bringers, who were the most actively involved with the humans, were to interfere with free will. Plus, the most important aspects of tonight’s mystery had been solved. The demons had come for the girl, inexorably drawn to her, delighting in hurting what belonged to another of their kind.

As for her, she would find freedom only in death.

Yes, I really should leave. And yet, he found himself lingering. Fear and revulsion now wafted from her, creating the… Surely not. But yes, there was no denying its presence. Creating the tiniest of fissures in the ice and darkness that lived inside his chest. Creating a flicker of… guilt?

He did not understand. Why here? Why now?

Why her?

Instantly the answer slid into place, and though he wanted to shy away from it as he had earlier, he couldn’t. She reminded him of Hadrenial. Not in demeanor—she was too full of fire—but in circumstance.

Hadrenial had died while tied to his bed.

Doesn’t matter. You must walk away. Emotions were nothing more than a waste. Zacharel had mourned his brother for centuries. He had wept and he had raged and he had sought death himself, but nothing he’d done had eased his guilt or his shame. Only when he’d cut himself off from all emotions had he experienced any relief.

And now…

Now, the frigid crystals weighing him down and dripping from his wings proved to be a blessing, reminding him of his status—commander—his duty—defending heavenly laws—and his goal—victory against the demons without any collateral damage. The girl could not, would not, matter.

“So predictable, Fitzpervert,” she taunted. “I knew you’d come for me.”

“As if I could stay away from my sweet little geisha. After all, we need to discuss your behavior today.” Lust glazed the man’s eyes as he perused her slender body, lingering over her very feminine curves.

Her gaze darted between the human and Zacharel. He knew she could no longer see him, that she was simply trying to reason out whether or not he was still there. And he knew the moment she decided that yes, he was still there, for quivers of humiliation overtook her.

“Why don’t we discuss your behavior instead?” A tinge of desperation belied her bravado. “You’re supposed to help your patients, not hurt them further.”

A lecherous grin met her words. “What we do together doesn’t have to hurt. If you make me feel good, I’ll make you feel very good.” He tossed the folder to the floor, removed his jacket. “I’ll prove it.”

“Don’t do this.” Her nostrils flared with the force of her breathing. “You’ll get caught, lose your job.”

“Darling, when are you going to learn? It’s your word against mine.” Withdrawing a syringe from his pant pocket, he walked forward. “I’m a highly respected medical professional. You’re a girl who sees monsters.”

“And I’m seeing one now!”

He chuckled. “I’ll change your mind.”

“I despise you,” she said, and Zacharel watched as she rallied her wits one more time. “Do you not realize this will come back to haunt you? If you plant seeds of destruction, you will have to live with the crop you grow, thorns and all.”

“How cute. A life lesson from one of the institution’s most violent inmates. But until my harvest comes in…”

She looked away from the human, from where Zacharel stood, and stared somewhere far away. Tears shone in those otherworldly eyes before she blinked them away. She would not break this eve; and really, this man would not break her for many months or even years. But she would hurt this eve. Badly.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MOMENT ZACHAREL FLEW out of the room, the fissure inside his chest elongated, and he would have sworn he heard ice cracking. Would a few words with the doctor truly be considered interfering? he wondered, slowing down. Afterward, he could return to his cloud, forget the female and continue on the way he had always continued on, alone, unaffected and unconcerned. The way he liked it. The way his Deity probably preferred it.

Very well. He was decided.

Zacharel returned to the room and materialized in front of the human male. A male who deserved to die for his crimes. But Zacharel would not be the one to harm him. He could only content himself with the knowledge that the doctor would one day reap a harvest of all the evil he had sown. Everyone always did.

Before the man could panic, Zacharel peered deeply into his eyes and said coldly, “You have something better to do.”

The doctor flinched and, snared by the ring of truth in Zacharel’s tone, replied, “Something better. Yes. I do.”

See? Zacharel wasn’t interfering as much as helping the doctor rediscover… whatever he considered better than harming one of his patients. “You will leave this room. You will not come back. You will not remember this night.”

A nod, and the man turned on his heel, rapped on the door.

Zacharel shielded himself inside a pocket of air as a surprised guard stepped into the room and looked the girl over. “All done, Dr. Fitzherbert? I thought you said you’d take a while.”

“Yes, I’m all done” was the monotone reply. “I will leave now. I have something better to do.”

“O-kay.”

Once again Zacharel found himself alone with the girl. He stepped from his shelter.

“I thought you weren’t going to save me,” she whispered, still looking somewhere outside the room. What did she see with those eyes?

Beautiful eyes, if he cared about that kind of thing—which he did not. “You asked if I had come to save you, and I had not. I came for another reason.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, swallowed. “Well, thank you anyway. For sending him away, I mean.”

Huh. Zacharel liked hearing thank-you from her lips. As rusty as her tone had been, he suspected she had not uttered those words very often. Perhaps she simply hadn’t had reason to—and why was his chest aching again? “What would he have done to you?”

Silence.

“Hurt you, then.” That, Zacharel had already guessed. “Has he hurt you before?”

More silence.

“That’s a yes.” Killing humans wasn’t something Zacharel usually enjoyed, but it wasn’t something he detested, either. He would do anything to anyone and never experience a moment of remorse. However, ripping the doctor’s heart out of his chest might have given him a small thrill. “Correct?”

And even more silence.

I’m being purposely ignored. Never before had he been disregarded. Not even by his men! Feral as they were, even they listened to him—before blatantly disobeying him. And his former leader, Lysander, had taken his every word under advisement. What’s more, the only beings outside of his race that he counted as… what? Not friends, but not potential targets for elimination, either. The demon-possessed immortals known as the Lords of the Underworld had fought beside him and earned his respect for resisting the evil of their demons so forcefully. They had always watched him with rapt fascination. The few humans to see him throughout the centuries had been utterly mesmerized.

That this tiny fluff of nothing so easily dismissed him was baffling.

Before he could decide how best to handle this, Thane walked through the far wall. Fury crackled over his expression the moment he spotted the girl. He did not question Zacharel, however. A small blessing.