Wicked Nights

“The demons have been eliminated, Majesty, and the one you requested has been taken to your cloud. Alive.” His smoky voice contained the same treacherous crackles.

Slowly the female turned her head, hunks of that tangled hair falling over her forehead and shielding her eyes. She blew the strands away and studied Thane.

“I’m certainly popular tonight. Are you an angel, too?” she asked, her gaze stroking over the man’s still-black wings.

Zacharel noticed Thane did not elicit the doubt that he had. Why?

“Yes.” Thane sniffed the air, frowned and whipped his gaze to Zacharel. “You plan to free her?”

“No.” Why would he think that?

The frown deepened. “But why… Never mind. If you have changed your mind about her, I will take her with me.”

When they did not know why she was here or what she had done? “No,” he repeated.

Thane bowed, as though he were a slave humbled by his master. “Of course not, Majesty. How dare I entertain such a silly desire. No one in such a place as this deserves compassion, correct?”

Would his men ever simply obey him without question? “Were any humans harmed during the battle?” he asked. The girl was not the only one whose queries he would disregard.

Head held high, Thane replied through clenched teeth, “One of the guards. A sword of fire sliced through his middle.”

Zacharel found his hands tightening into fists for the second time that day. Direct disobedience—again. “A sword of fire does not slice through a human by accident.” While angels operated on the spiritual plane, not even their weapons could be sensed—or felt—by the humans. Therefore, the angel who’d done this deed had deliberately entered the mortal realm.

“The guard was demon possessed and needed to die,” Thane said.

“And yet he was still human. Who disobeyed my orders?”

Thane ran his tongue over his teeth. “Perhaps it was I.”

Familiar with the tricks that could be used to circumvent the ring of truth, Zacharel knew Thane was not the culprit. “Who? You will tell me or you will watch me penalize Bjorn and Xerxes.” Truth. He would do it without a single qualm.

Another pause, this one several beats longer. “Jamila.”

Jamila. One of four females in his army, but the one he had trusted most. She was the only one who had never challenged his authority. Yet now, because of her, he would receive another whipping.

“You,” the female on the bed said, her timbre shaded with irritation. “New guy. Angel Boy. Colonel Curls, or whatever you want to be called. I’m done asking, so now I’m commanding. Free me.”

Zacharel actually had to fight an urge not to smile. Him. Smile. The absurdity was staggering. But she’d just called his warrior by several insulting names, the same way that warrior often called Zacharel by insulting names.

Thane relaxed, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Colonel Curls. I like that. But, my beautiful human, you asked me to save you, not to free you.”

“Same thing,” she said, exasperated.

“They are quite different, I assure you. But what will you do if I fail to heed your command, hmm?”

She uttered a silky, “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

Zacharel pursed his lips, no longer amused. Was this flirting? This had better not be flirting. He and Thane were on a mission.

“Because knowing will not deter me?” Thane asked just as silkily.

“Because it’s so horrible even hearing it will make you puke.”

Thane coughed—or covered up a snort. It was too difficult to tell. “Did you hear that?” he asked Zacharel, speaking to him as if they were friends for the first time in their acquaintance, as if they were sharing a moment of understanding. “She just ordered me to obey her will, then threatened to hurt me if I failed to comply.”

“I have ears,” he replied drily. “I heard.” But why hadn’t she done the same to Zacharel?

“And she actually believes in her success,” Thane continued, bewildered.

“You do not have to sound so impressed,” Zacharel said, not liking the idea on any level. Impressed, Thane would desire the female… perhaps stop at nothing to have her.

Thane frowned at him. “I’m simply curious. And, very well, I will ask what is not my business. Why have you claimed her as your own if you plan to leave her here?”

“I have not claimed her.” Zacharel could not get the words out fast enough.

“Then why have you spread your essentia all over her?”

“I have not touched her.”

“And yet her skin bears your tinge.”

“Not mine.” Essentia, a substance that swirled inside each of their bodies, sometimes seeping through the pores of their hands to become a fine powder, allowing them to claim any object they considered their exclusive property. Demons produced a similar substance, only theirs was tainted.

Zacharel’s attention whipped to the female. “I have never claimed a human.” He’d never had so much as a yearning to do so. “She does not glow.” He saw nothing out of the ordinary about her skin.

She watched him unabashedly, and he nearly shifted on his feet. Him. Shifting. Inconceivable!

“I promise you,” Thane said, “the gleam is very dull but there, and it’s a definite warning to other males not to touch what belongs to you.”

Him? Impossible. “You are mistaken, that’s all.”

“Argh!” the girl interrupted. “I’m done listening to this meaningless jabber. Team Winger sucks! Just forget that I’m here. Oh, wait. You already have. So here’s an idea—leave.”

She had more mettle than even Zacharel had realized, and he was trying not to be impressed, or baffled, himself. “Go,” he said to his warrior. “I want you and my other advisors—” which included Jamila “—waiting in my cloud. No, strike that. Not you. Go and find every detail about this human that you can.” A need to learn more about her kept pricking at him. Better to heed it than to regret not doing it.

“Whatever you say, glorious leader.” Thane stalked from the room. Just before he vanished, he cast the girl one final glance, causing Zacharel’s hands to clench into fists. How many times would the action happen in a single day, when before he’d gone years without doing it once?

“If you want to know about me,” she snapped the moment she was alone with Zacharel, “you could have just asked me.”

“And give you the chance to lie?”

Hurt cascaded over her features, but only for a second. Pride took its place, and remained. “You’re right. I’m a no-good liar, and you’re Mr. Truth. So why are you here, Mr. Truth? I’m pretty clear on the fact that it’s not to save or free me.”

There was no reason not to tell her. “I was told to destroy the horde of demons trying to get inside the building.”

A beat of panic. “Horde, as in army?”

“Yes, but they are no longer any type of threat. My army was successful against them.”

Slowly she exhaled. “They wanted me, right?”

“Yes.”

Another beat of panic before she sagged against the bed. “But why me?”

She had no idea what had been done to her. None at all. Yet she would have remembered being tricked… or seduced. So how had the demon managed to mark her?

“Well?” she demanded.

Ignoring her, Zacharel claimed the folder still lying on the floor, the one the doctor had dropped, and riffled through the pages.

She banged her head against her pillow once, twice. “Fine. Pretend I’m not speaking. Whatever. I’m used to it. But please, glorious leader, allow me to save you the trouble of digging through the little details, since even a liar like me would have no need to fudge those.” Without pausing to allow him to respond, she added, “To start, my name is Annabelle Miller.”

The truth, confirmed in the notes. Annabelle. Latin for loveable. “I am called Zacharel.” Not that it mattered.

“Well, Zachie, I—”

“Glorious leader,” he rushed out. “You may call me glorious leader.”

“There’s no way I’m calling you that,” she said, despite the fact that she had already done so, “but enough about your exalted opinion of yourself. I’m here because I killed my parents. I stabbed them to death, or so I’m told.”

He glanced up, watched another of those tremors rock her. Perhaps he should fetch her a blanket.

Fetch her a blanket? Seriously? His frown returned. Her comfort did not concern him. “So you were told? You do not remember?” he asked, remaining in place.

“Oh, I remember.” The bitterness returned to her voice, thicker now. “I watched a creature… a demon do it, tried to stop him, tried to save them, and when I told the authorities what had really happened, I was deemed criminally insane and locked here for the rest of my life.”

Again, he knew she spoke truthfully. Not just because the details she mentioned were typed, scribbled and repeated throughout the pages in the folder—though none of her doctors had believed her—but because he tasted only the rose and bergamot, both fragile, delicate flavors he liked. Odd. He’d never cared for scents or tastes before. They were what they were, and he’d had no preference.

“Why have these demons targeted me?” she asked again. “Why? And just so you know, telling me is the only way to stop me from pestering you about it.”

“That’s not exactly true. I could leave, and then you would not be able to pester me about anything.” Rather than ignore her yet again, however, he decided there was no reason not to give her this information, either. Her reaction interested him.

Fires of hell, but something must be wrong with him. Nothing interested him.

“Sometime before your parents were killed,” he stated, “you invited a demon into your life.”

“No. No way.” Violently she shook her head, tangling those blue-black strands around her temples. “I would never invite one of those things anywhere. Except, maybe, a house-burning party.”

How was she expressing such undeniable doubt about something he had said, with the ring of truth as ripe as ever in his tone? Yes, there were humans who possessed doubts more powerful than that ring, but Annabelle did not fit the type.

“Humans fail to realize how easy demons are to welcome. The negative words you speak, the detestable things you do. Utter a lie, meditate on hate, entertain the urge to commit violence, and you might as well sound the dinner bell.”

“I don’t care what you say. I never welcomed a demon.”

How could he make her understand? “Demons are the equivalent of spiritual deliverymen. Your words and actions can be a request for a package. In other words, a curse. They come to your door, knock. It’s your choice whether or not you open that door and accept. You did.”

“No,” she insisted.

“Have you ever played the Ouija?” he asked, trying to reach her stubborn core from a different angle.

“No.”

“Visited a psychic?”

“No.”

“Cast a spell? Any spell?”

“No, okay? No!”

“Lied, cheated or stolen from a neighbor? Hated someone, anyone? Feared something, anything?”

The next tremor to slide the length of her body proved stronger than the others, locking her jaw, silencing her and rattling the entire bed. By the time she stilled, her anger had drained and she radiated a bleakness that somehow widened the fissure in his chest by the minutest degree.

“I’m done talking to you,” she said quietly.

Meaning yes, she had. He had seen proof of hatred and fear already. “But I am not done talking to you. Spiritually, all of the things I mentioned grant your enemy permission to attack you.”

“But how can a person stop feeling fear?”

“It is not what you feel that truly matters but what you say and how you act while feeling that way.”

A moment passed as she absorbed his words. Ultimately, she sighed. “Okay, look. I’m tired, and you were kind enough to ensure Fitzpervert wouldn’t be coming back. This will be my only chance to rest without someone sneaking up on me. Will you just go already?”

If you cannot do what I need, then leave me here. I hate that you’re seeing me like this. Go, please. For once, listen to me and obey. Go!

He gritted his teeth. No more thinking about his brother.

“I will go, yes,” he said, “but you? What will you do?”

“The same as always.” Her tone was as emotionless as his own, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He much preferred her mettle. “I’ll survive.”

But for how much longer?

For several minutes, Zacharel debated what to do with her—and reeled over the fact that a debate was needed at all. Were he to take her with him, she would cause problems. Of that, there was no doubt. He would have interfered in a human’s life, many human lives, and he would surely be chastised. Right now, he already had one whipping looming over his head. Jamila’s. But were he to leave Annabelle behind, she would eventually break. The thought of her crying and begging as his brother had done disturbed him.

He could visit her once a week, he supposed. Check on her, guard her. Unless he was called to battle, of course. Or injured. And in the meantime, while he was gone? What would happen to her?

A counterargument sparked to life. If he aided her, he would not be interfering. Not really. He would be protecting her fully, and that’s why he was here, after all. That’s what his Deity wanted him to do: protect the humans at any cost. Zacharel would be rewarded, not reprimanded. Surely.

Well, then, decision made.

When he closed the distance between them, he… at last discerned the glow Thane had mentioned. A soft, gentle light the same shade as Zacharel’s eyes seeped from her, washing over her, bathing her with a subtle radiance.

But… he had not touched her. Not once.

“Have you been in contact with another angel?” he asked, though no two angels produced the same shade of essentia. But a demon could not have done it. There was no way the epitome of evil could have produced such a magnificent color.

“No.”

Truth. There had to be an explanation. Perhaps… perhaps the glow was all her own, natural. Just because he had never heard of such a thing did not mean it was impossible.

“What are you planning to do to me?” She met his gaze, surprising him with the ferocity banked there, daring him to do… something.

“We will find out together.” He reached out, intending to undo one of the cuffs, and she flinched.

“Don’t!” she said.

Realization dawned. She had been abused, and she expected the same treatment from him.

To promise never to harm her in any way was, perhaps, to lie to her, and he could not lie to her. Humans were sensitive beings, their feelings and bodies easily hurt. Accidents happened. No telling what she would find fault with in their dealings together.

Just how long do you plan to be with her?

“Right now, I plan only to free you and escort you from this place,” he said. “All right?”

Hope flickered in those crystal eyes. “But you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you,” she rushed out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you. You won’t regret this, I promise. I’m not a danger to anyone. I just want to go somewhere and be by myself. I won’t cause any trouble. I promise! And seriously, thank you!”

He undid the first cuff, walked to her other side and repeated the entire process.

Tears filled her eyes as she pulled her hands tight to her chest and rubbed at her wrists. Not from pain, he didn’t think, but from joy. “Where will you escort me?”

“To my cloud, where you will be safe from the demons.”

A shake of her head, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Your… cloud? As in, a cloud in the sky?”

“Yes. You may bathe, change clothes, eat. Whatever you wish.” And then… still he had no idea.

“But—and stop me if this sounds crazy—I want to stay on solid ground, where I won’t plunge through mist and fall a bazillion feet only to go splat.”

He loosened one ankle cuff. “Were I to take you anywhere on land, you would be hunted by your own people… not to mention other demons. You’ll be safe in my cloud, I promise you.” He loosened the other cuff.

The moment she was free, she jerked upright, threw her legs over the bed and stood. Though she swayed, she managed to remain on her feet. “Just get me out of the building, and we can go our separate ways. You’ll have done a good deed, and I will remain hidden forever.”

Refusal to obey him, when he’d finally decided to aid her. Was she trying to twist him into knots? “I cannot liberate you without supervision, for I would be blamed for any damage you caused.”

“I won’t—”

“Mean to, I know. But you will.”

“Just give me a chance!”

That’s what he was trying to do. “You have two choices, Annabelle. Stay here, or go to my cloud. Nothing else will be considered.”

Her chin lifted, painting her the very picture of stubbornness. “Can I stay with the other angel, then? The blond.”

Thane? “Why?” he demanded.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I like him better than I like you.”

There was a right way to take that statement?

Honesty was to be commended, and yet Zacharel suddenly battled an inexplicable need to shake her. “You cannot know who you like better. You only spent a few seconds in his company.”

“Sometimes a few seconds is all it takes.”

The fissure in his chest widened. No guilt this time, but a measure of… anger? Oh, yes. Anger. Zacharel was the one who had prevented the doctor from violating her. Zacharel was the one who had freed her. She should like him best. “I am just as fierce a warrior as he is. Fiercer, even.”

A tremor shook her.

Such a reaction… “Perhaps you do not want fierce,” he said, more to himself than to her. Perhaps she craved what she clearly had not encountered in this place. Kindness.

“Look, Winged Wonder. Get me out of here, then we’ll hammer out the details about where I’m staying. Okay?”

“Winged Wonder,” he said, nodding. “I find that I do not mind that one. It fits.”

“Captain Modesty fits better,” she muttered.

“I disagree. Winged Wonder is clearly the better choice for a man such as me, and we will discuss the details now.” He could hardly believe he was having a conversation such as this one. “I will not have you acting out later because there was a misunderstanding between us. I’m dealing with enough of that already.” His gaze pinned her in place. “Tell me why you wish to stay with Thane.”

She gulped but said, “I feel safer with him, that’s all. And besides, snow wasn’t falling from his wings. Why is it falling from yours?”

“The answer does not pertain to you. As for your safety, I have already promised you will be unharmed in my cloud. Therefore, your requirement is met and the details are hammered out. You will stay with me. Come. I will waste no more time with arguments.”

She could not fly, could not flash from one location to another with only a thought, which meant he would have to touch her. He would dislike every second of the contact, he was sure, but he would endure it nonetheless. He extended his hand, motioned with his fingers. “Last chance. Do you stay or do you go?”

I’LL SOON BE FREE OF THIS HELLHOLE, Annabelle thought, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to dance with relief, then hide under the covers from panic. Escape… finally… but would it be the heaven she’d craved—or another version of hell?

Does it matter? You’ll be free of Fitzpervert, free of this cage, free of the drugs and the other patients and the orderlies… free from the demons.

All this time she had been fighting evil beings from hell. Neither of her parents had believed in an afterlife. They had raised her to be skeptical, too. Well, they had been wrong, and she had been wrong, and now she had a lot to learn.

“Annabelle,” Zacharel prompted, again motioning with his fingers.

This man could teach her, she thought. This heavenly man who appeared so devilish, like a dark, seductive dream meant to lure a female straight into midnight temptations.

Dangerous… Yes, this man is dangerous….

The words were a soft, erotic whisper against her flesh. A whisper she’d heard and felt since the moment he’d entered the room.

Still she said, “I… choose to go.” Staying with him any longer than necessary was another story, however. He might remind her of the dark fairy-tale prince she’d dreamed about so long ago, the night before her birthday, but this man was no charmer.

Trembling, she wrapped her fingers around his. At the moment of contact, he sucked in a breath as if she’d somehow burned him and she nearly jerked away. Steady.

Zacharel called himself an angel, but she had no idea what that meant or what it entailed other than the standard “good and right” stuff. More, she had no idea where he was taking her—a cloud? really?—or what he planned to do with her when he got her there.

“Are you okay?”

“I… need a moment to adjust,” he said, a strain in his voice.

Good, because she needed a moment, too. “Take all the time you need, Captain Modesty.”

“I am Winged Wonder, and I will. Do not move.”

“Uh, that might be a problem.” As cold as she was, his skin proved to be colder. Soon the shivers would overtake her.

He offered no reply. Just peered down at her through narrowed lids, as if he blamed her for something catastrophic.

Could she trust him? Maybe, maybe not. But she wanted her freedom and he could give her that. And yeah, she also wanted to be on her own, relying only on herself. One day, she would be. For right now, escape would suffice.

If he tried to hurt her when they got to… wherever he was taking her, she would fight the way she’d always fought—dirty—whether he was an angel or not.

“This contact,” Zacharel said. He frowned, the downward curve of his lips surely a default expression he couldn’t control. Not once had she seen him smile.

Was there anything that would amuse him, or even rattle him?

“What about it?” she forced herself to ask.

“I expected certain sensations to fade, but they still have not.” His grip tightened on her hand, as if he sensed she verged on pulling away. He tugged her closer, closer, until her body was flush against his. “This is not what I imagined.”

As he wrapped his free arm around her waist, he peered down at her with those eyes the color of emeralds. Her birthstone. Once her favorite stone, in fact, but her birthday had become synonymous with death and destruction and, well, she’d decided emeralds sucked.

But she couldn’t deny his eyes were gorgeous. Long, thick lashes framed those jewel-toned irises that lacked any hint of emotion, softening his features from impossibly cruel to maybe-I’ll-only-make-you-scream-a-little-before-I-slay-you.

He had silky hair that reminded her of a starless night. And oh, how long since she’d stared up at the sky? His forehead was neither too long nor too wide, his cheekbones hollowed as though chiseled by a master sculptor. His lips so lush and red a woman needed only a single glance to fantasize for the rest of eternity.

If only he’d been short. But, no. He was tall, at least six foot five, with wide shoulders and the most superb muscle mass she’d ever seen. And his wings? A-maz-ing. They arched over his shoulders and cascaded all the way to the floor. Feathers of the purest white glistened with the essence of the purest rainbow, thick threads of gold forming a hypnotic pattern that led into patches of down.

The other guy, the blond, had been visually delicious as well, but despite the depraved gleam in his cerulean eyes, she’d thought she could handle him. At least better than she could handle this one.

Too late for that. And maybe that was for the best, she decided then. She was filled with so much hate, anger, desperation and helplessness—each, apparently, an aphrodisiac for the demons—Zacharel’s coldness would be a refreshing change.