You are not a slave to such mortal desires. He would not touch her, and he would not consider her response. But while he could fight the physical—and win—he found he could not fight the mental. His curiosity about her was too great and he found himself saying, “Your mother was Japanese, yet your name is not.”
Annabelle accepted the change of subject with a relieved squaring of her shoulders. “She spent most of her life in the States. And I was named after my father’s mother, Anna Bella.” She drew the lapels of the coat tighter and gave in to her own curiosity. “I’ve been wondering. Are you like the angels in the Bible? I, uh, had the cloud provide me with one last night. I read a few passages, and…well…”
“You see differences between me and the angels you read about,” he finished for her.
“Exactly. And I do remember you saying you were part of a different race…or something.”
He couldn’t help pointing out, “I could refuse to answer, as you have done to me.”
“But that would be the equivalent of a spanking,” she pointed out, “and you, who never lie, won’t do that to me.”
A very smart girl, his Annabelle. Wait. His Annabelle? “What you read is true. In human terms, my Deity is a king. He rules only a certain portion of the heavens and serves under the Most High, who rules every inch of the heavens, even what the Greeks and Titans claim to own—but that is another story. And we are not like the Most High’s angels because we were not created for the same purposes.”
She tossed up her hands. “Then why are you called angels?”
“We are winged, and we fight evil. It’s a label, and it stuck.”
“Argh! But if you both fight evil, how are you different?”
He had so rarely interacted with humans, and he had never had to explain this kind of thing. “All humans are living beings, yes, and share many similarities, but not all have the same purpose. Some build. Some entertain. Some teach.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the walls of the cloud darkened, thickened, lightning strikes sparking from within, small at first, but growing in length and intensity. Confused, he searched for other differences, found none.
Annabelle reached out, intending to stroke her fingertips over the lightning. He grabbed her wrist and stilled her.
“Cloud?” he said. “What’s the problem?”
Demons… A whisper inside his head. Attacking…
Impossible. Right? But…what if it wasn’t? Zacharel summoned his sword of fire. Demons rarely ventured into the heavens, much less to an angel’s residence, but it could be done.
All the color drained from Annabelle’s face. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“We’re under attack.” Either the demons had no idea who owned this cloud, or their desire to obtain Annabelle was too great, their ability to track her far better than he had anticipated.
The cloud would hold them off, but would, eventually, fail. Clouds such as this one were designed for comfort rather than battle, something that had never bothered him before. Actually, at any other time, Zacharel would have relished this challenge, the chance for victory. Now he experienced the tiniest shard of fear. Annabelle could be hurt. He hadn’t spent these past few days seeing to her survival just to watch her fall prey to his enemy’s evil.
“Show me,” he commanded the cloud.
Beside him, a portion of air thickened, a multitude of colors flickering to life, blending together. He stiffened. Annabelle gasped. At least fifteen demons surrounded his home, clawing at the outer walls in an effort to get inside. They were worked into a frenzy, foaming at the mouth, desperate, their nails tipped with poison.
“They came for me,” she said, toneless.
Zacharel snaked his free hand around her waist and tugged her into the line of his body. “Hold on to me and don’t let go under any circumstances.”
“But I can help you fight them.” Good. There’d been a layer of determination that time.
Still, he barked, “Can you fly? Or will you tumble to the earth without me?” They both knew the answer to that one.
No longer hesitating, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers locked tight at his nape. Soft breasts snuggled against the pound of his heartbeat, and their lower bodies pressed together. He inhaled sharply, amazed he even noticed the sensations at such a time as this.
Focus. “That isn’t good enough,” he said. His hand lowered to her bottom, and he hefted her up. “Legs.”
Her legs wrapped around his waist.
Their eyes met, a clash of green against that otherworldly blue—a blue currently fogged with the determination he’d heard as well as the terror he’d sensed. But she nodded, ready for battle.
Brave girl.
“At least you stopped snowing,” she said.
Had he? His Deity must have heard his unspoken desire and responded, a gesture Zacharel would be sure to thank him for.
“I wish there was another way,” he said. In this position, Annabelle would act as his shield. He despised that on every level, but he had no other solution. He couldn’t flash her away and return—moving from one location to another with only a thought—because he couldn’t flash. Only a rare few could, like the wingless Koldo.
What Zacharel could do was camouflage his body so that no one could see or sense him. But he couldn’t camouflage Annabelle to that same degree, so that was out, too.
I need you—he projected first to Koldo because he could be the biggest help right now, then to every other member of his army. He’d never done this before, wasn’t sure it would work, and cursed himself for not practicing speaking inside their minds. Demons. My cloud. Battle.
There was no time to await their responses, if they even knew how to reply in such a manner. “If I hand you to a man named Koldo, do not fight him. He will whisk you to safety.”
“What about you?”
Excellent question. “Now,” he said to the cloud, ignoring her, “I want you to leave this location. Go somewhere the demons cannot reach you, and guard the urn. I’ll return to the heavens and find you.”
Whoosh.
The cloud was gone, taking the foundation at his feet, too. Annabelle gasped, clutched him tighter. Suddenly bright morning sunlight glowed with piercing intensity. Demons surrounded him, their jagged wings flapping frantically as they struggled to understand what had just happened. Zacharel swung his sword and beheaded the one nearest him. With the flicker of the flames and the slick sound of bone detaching from bone, the others realized their prey was in sight.
They converged on him en masse. Ducking, diving and twisting, Zacharel worked his way through them. Two more bodies fell, erupting into flames as they plummeted toward the earth. Twelve remaining. They did not fight honorably, but then, he knew that about them and knew how to counteract their moves.
“I must let you go,” he said to Annabelle. “Do not relax your grip.”
“Got it.”
When four swarmed him at the same time, swiping out, he rolled through the sky, releasing Annabelle as announced to block the two demons coming at him from the left, while using the sword to behead the two demons coming at him from the right.
Shocking him, she unhooked one leg from his waist and kicked at the demons he’d blocked, the sharp heel of her boot nailing one in the eye.
“Annabelle!”
“What? I didn’t relax my grip,” she said. “Not with my hands.”
A demon latched on to her ankle before she could right herself, and she yelped.
Zacharel swirled his wrist back, then sliced forward, going low…lower…moving with the demon—finally destroying him. Another head tumbled through the air, black blood spraying.
“Behind you!” Annabelle shouted.
He spun quickly—but not quickly enough. Demon claws meant for his neck swiped out and connected with the side of one wing, causing a sharp lance of pain to echo through him…and freeze the appendage in place.
Zacharel gritted his te
eth as he plunged through the daylight. Annabelle released a shrill scream of terror. Every bit of his strength and determination were needed to force the injured wing back into motion. At first, he failed to hold it steady. Finally, though, he caught an air current and jerked to a stop.
“That was close,” she said, clearly battling an urge to vomit.
Too close. “The end result is all that matters.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Stay alive.” No other angels were in sight. Either they were engaged in their own battles elsewhere, or he had been unsuccessful in summoning them.
“Well, you, too.”
The demons found them, once again attacking from every angle. His sword blazed through the air, and because he wasn’t as fast as before, another set of talons soon managed to slice through his wing.
Down he fell and this time, there was no stopping his momentum. A tendon had been severed. Annabelle’s ponytail slapped at his cheeks, his lips, the inside of his mouth.
“Zacharel!” The force of the wind even managed to rip her from his embrace, her body tumbling end over end.
Cackling with glee, several demons followed her.
Zacharel thought fast. The Deity’s angels could die physically because of bodily injury, yes. Impact would splatter his organs, no question, but even still he might regenerate. Annabelle was human. There was no question about whether or not she would regenerate. She would not.
He tucked his good wing into his back, and arrowed toward her. She faced the ground, away from him, her hair flying behind her. He closed the distance in a matter of seconds, withdrew throwing stars from the pockets of air where he’d stored them and nailed every demon reaching for her.
Shrieks of pain echoed as hands were detached, and one by one the beings fell away from her. Almost there…so close…contact! Zacharel wrapped his arms around her and tucked her into his chest.
Her elbows pounded at him, and her legs kicked at him. “Let me go, you sick, disgusting piece of—”
“I’ve got you,” he said, and in that moment he knew. There was only one thing he could do to ensure she lived.
Instantly she calmed. “Zacharel?” Twisting, she wound her arms around his neck. “Thank the Lord!”
“Yes. It is I.” He produced his vial containing the Water of Life. Only a single drop remained, but this was a matter of life and death. He didn’t allow her to question or deny him. He simply tipped the rim over her lips so that the droplet could find its way into her mouth. “Drink.”
Eyes wide, she swallowed. There. No matter what happened next, she would live. She might wish otherwise, but she would live.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THIS IS IT, THE END, Annabelle thought, a delicious warmth flooding her, fizzing in her veins like champagne and completely contradicting the sense of hopelessness screaming through her mind. Wind whipped through her hair, cut at already chapped skin. And…and…oh, mercy, a sharp pain tore through her chest, her heart squeezed by a cruel fist. The warmth and fizz were forgotten. She went rigid, released a cry of pain.
“Easy now, Annabelle.”
“What’s wrong… What did you do… Argh!”
“The water can hurt you as it heals you.”
Horrid demons, causing all of this. “But I’m not…injured.”
“You must be. Adrenaline could have hidden whatever was wrong.”
“Can you…land us?” Ohhhh, but she could barely speak through the agony. Those demons must have done more than scratch her.
“No. I cannot. Impact will hurt, and I will not lie, that hurt will be the worst you have ever experienced.”
Won’t scream, won’t scream, really truly won’t scream. “Any good news?”
“The hurt will not last. Soon you will feel nothing, I vow it.”
“Because…I’ll be…dead.” Breathe, just breathe. But even that caused the vise grip to tighten on her heart. Sweat beaded over her skin, while her blood thickened to ice crystals. Impact would actually be a relief, she decided.
“I have ensured that you will live.” Zacharel’s arms were strong bands around her, offering comfort. One of his wings enveloped her, as if to offer a cushion when they landed. His other wing flapped in the breeze, ready to rip free at any moment.
She wished her heart would just go ahead and jump out of her chest. Whatever he’d fed her had to be worse than any landing and… Ohhhh, another wave of agony crashed through her.
Yes, this was it. The very end. After all the battles she’d survived, all the hardships, she hated that she was going out this way. With such a bang, har-har. She hadn’t had a chance to visit her parents’ graves. She hadn’t destroyed the demon who’d killed them, because he had never returned for her, and trapped in the institution as she’d been, she hadn’t been able to hunt him. Not that she would have known how. She hadn’t gotten to tell her brother goodbye, even though he wouldn’t have said a word in response.
The ground loomed ever closer. So green, so lovely, making a mockery of her forced calm. Her eyes burned, teared. Her chest constricted. Closer…any moment…
“I’m sorry,” Zacharel said just before twisting, placing his back to the ground and her focus on the sky, a haze of pretty blue and white. Thick clouds, puffed in every direction. “The pain you are about to suffer, transient as it will be… I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Don’t be. You did everything you could—”
He tensed, and she knew. Impact.
Boom! They smacked into tree after tree, jostling them one way and then the other, breath exploding from them both, mingling, until there was nothing left to exhale— Oh, wait, a harder smack than before proved her wrong, completely emptying out her lungs.
She and Zacharel rolled down, down, hitting branch after branch, not really losing momentum before they…boom! The final impact proved far more jarring, harder, harsher. But then they stopped. Just stopped.
A spiderweb of black wove through her vision. She concentrated on regaining the use of her lungs, inhaling, exhaling, too fast at first, but gradually slowing, evening out. Minutes stretched into hours, hours into eternity before she found the strength to sit up. A mistake. A tide of dizziness swept over her, turning her world upside down. She was wet, soaked actually. And oh, baby, here was the promised pain. A kaleidoscope of burning, aching and throbbing.
Wincing, she scanned the surrounding area.
Broken tree limbs overhead provided a perfect path for the sun, allowing hot rays to lick over her, spotlighting her. In front of her, a forest loomed. Leaves of dewy emerald brushed together, and wildflowers perfumed the air.
Beside her…beside her sprawled Zacharel, his eyes closed, his body motionless. Both of his wings were bent at odd angles, the robe he wore no longer white but crimson.
Blood, so much blood. Everywhere. All over her—because of him. It leaked from his mouth, dripped from his ears, and where the fabric of his robe was ripped, great tides of it overflowed, reminding her of corroded water from a spout. His torso was mutilated, one of his thighs split open. His ankle, broken. The bone had sliced through his skin, the edges jagged, chips missing.
Her parents, ripped open, staring at nothing.
Her parents, lying in a congealing pool.
A hysterical laugh bubbled from her. Once again Annabelle would walk away from a gruesome scene without much damage to herself.
No. No! she thought then. She wouldn’t leave Zacharel like this. Wouldn’t let him die.
He’s already dead, common sense piped up.
No! her stubborn core replied. She hadn’t known him long, but he’d twice saved her life. He’d taken care of her. He, the man who claimed to have killed his own brother. He, the man who said he could kill her without hesitation. He, the man who never lied. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of trying to humanize him, assigning him acceptable reasons for threatening her, but she wouldn’t leave him, either. He’d done his best to protect her.
Annabelle lumbered to h
er knees and checked his pulse. The beat was thready, but there. There was hope!
God, if You’re listening, thank You! With shaking hands, she put Zacharel back together as best she could, gagging, crying. Just…stay with us a little longer. He needs help.
“You’ll heal,” she told Zacharel. “You’ll survive this.”
Her gaze panned the surrounding forest. If she built a sled, she could drag him…where? She had no idea where they were. Doesn’t matter. She would drag him until she found someone who could call for help.
“What did you do to him?”
The harsh voice slashed through the air behind her, slamming into her with so much hate and rage she fell to her hands. Blood splashed. Quickly she straightened, spun. The dizziness…almost too much, the spiderwebs returning and interweaving with pinpricks of light.
A beast of a man loomed a few feet away.
Trembling, she reached through the slits in her new leather pants and palmed two of the blades the cloud had given her. Good. She hadn’t lost them in the fall. As she shoved her way to her feet, struggling to stay upright, she pointed both weapons at the scary-looking newcomer. “Don’t come any closer. I’ll make you regret it.”
Ragged abrasions covered his cheeks, the edges singed, but the rest of his skin reminded her of honey sprinkled with sugar—a shocking contradiction. His eyes were black and filled with the same hate and rage she’d heard in his tone, his dark hair long and beaded, and though he wore a white robe, he wasn’t an angel. He couldn’t be an angel. No wings arched over his massive shoulders.
He glared down at her, then at Zacharel. When those bottomless eyes next landed on her, they were narrowed and crackling with orange-gold flames. Somehow, those flames were far worse than the emotions.
She blinked, and then he was standing in front of her—without ever having walked a step. Long, thick fingers wrapped around her wrists, squeezing. Still she hung on to her weapons.
“Let me go!” she demanded, trying to knee him between the legs.
He twisted, avoiding contact. “Release the blades.”
Wicked Nights aotd-1 Page 11
