Wicked Nights aotd-1

by Gena Showalter

  Boom! Boom!

  A sharp sting in both her shoulders, jerking her backward, to her knees. There was a gush of warmth down her torso. Her arms fell to her side, too heavy to hold up, but somehow she maintained her grip on the gun. All she had to do was lift it and squeeze the trigger, and this would be over.

  “Don’t worry,” Driana said. “Neither was a kill shot. But the cops should have heard them, should be leaping from their car right now and racing inside any second.”

  Lift…lift…inch by agonizing inch…breathing through the pain. “Thank you, demon, because now a third and fourth shot won’t matter.” Finally Annabelle had the gun in the air. Praying her aim would be sufficient, she hammered at the trigger.

  Boom! Boom!

  Driana reacted as she had, jerking backward. Blood sprayed across the hallway walls, her throat torn open, now a gaping mass of crimson and meat. Her head lolled to the side, her gaze fixing somewhere behind Annabelle.

  Dead, she was dead.

  Annabelle hadn’t meant… Had only hoped to… What had she done? Pure evil had stolen her parents from her, and now she’d stolen this girl from someone else—from Brax.

  A green-and-black mist began to rise from her body, a monster quickly taking shape. It had ruby-colored eyes, a skeletal face and stooped shoulders, and it hissed at Annabelle, baring fangs dripping with thick, yellow liquid.

  If she’d had the strength, she would have screamed. Below, the front door crashed open. Male voices shouted instructions at each other and warnings for whoever had the gun. Footsteps slapped against the floor. Another hiss, and the demon shot through the ceiling, out of view.

  Annabelle dropped the weapon, and labored to her feet, searching for a way out. Dizzying sickness consumed her, hazing her surroundings.

  Zacharel appeared in front of her, his features tight with concern. He may not have been here, but he must have been close by. Must have heard the shots, too. His arms slid underneath her, and in seconds, they had cleared the house and were in the air.

  She rested her cheek on his strong shoulder and closed her eyes. “My brother?”

  “Is alive. I should not have left you alone. I am sorry. So sorry.”

  “I killed her.”

  “I know.”

  “Her demon got away.”

  “I know that, too.” He eased her down onto something cold and flat. A bed, she realized, blinking open her eyes. She was in a motel room, her brother seated on the bed across from hers.

  Though her vision clouded more with every second that passed, she could see that his eyes were swollen from tears, his cheeks were scratched and bleeding, and he was shaking uncontrollably. She tried to sit up, but Zacharel held her down.

  “What happened to him?” she managed to get out.

  “I showed him that monsters do, in fact, exist.”

  “And the b-bastard dropped me o-out of the s-sky,” Brax said through his shudders. “T-twice.”

  Zacharel ripped her soaked T-shirt from her body with a single tug of his hands, then slid her bra straps aside more gently. How they’d managed to remain intact, she might never know.

  “You’ll notice I caught him twice, too.” With barely a breath, her angel added, “The bullets went all the way through.”

  That was a good thing, she hoped.

  Brax rubbed at his shoulders, as if in sympathy. “Wh-who shot you?”

  “Your girlfriend,” she said, a wave of cold blasting her, beginning where the wounds originated, then spreading through the rest of her, making her shiver, keeping her awake.

  “Driana?”

  “Do you have another girlfriend?” Zacharel snapped. A long while passed in silence while he stared down at her, his eyes bright with determination.

  “But she would never… She’s…” Shock increased Brax’s trembling. “Is she okay?”

  Don’t tell him. Stay silent. “I’m sorry, but she’s dead.” He deserved to know. “I shot her.”

  He peered at her with growing horror. “What kind of monster are you? Wait. I remember. You’re the Butcher of Colorado.”

  Zacharel was at the other bed, backhanding Brax and nearly dislocating his jaw before Annabelle could blink. “Your woman was demon possessed and tried to kill your sister. Annabelle was protecting herself.”

  A fresh bout of tears streaked down Brax’s cheeks. “N-no. I refuse to b-believe that. She couldn’t have been demon possessed, she just couldn’t! She hasn’t been herself lately, but…but…” The force of his sobs had him curling into himself. And finally, blessedly, the ring of truth struck his core and he accepted what Zacharel had said. “I’m…sorry, Annabelle. If she had been herself, she would never have tried to hurt you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said as Zacharel returned to her side.

  “Are you okay?” Brax asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. She hoped. She ached, oh, did she ache, her muscles throbbing, her bones creaking, but she kept her features relaxed. “I’ve healed from worse, right, Zacharel?”

  The angel nodded. “I’ll make sure you heal this time, too.” Jaw clenched, he withdrew a clear vial from the air. The Water of Life. “Open.”

  “No, I—”

  With one hand under her neck, lifting her head, and the other tipping the vial back, he ensured a droplet hit her tongue before she could finish her protest. Cool, crisp, the clean flavor slid down her throat, into her stomach, and torpedoed through the rest of her. As new cells were created, as muscle and tissue wove back together, her pain magnified, chill replaced by heat.

  But then, a few minutes later—an eternity, surely—strength replaced her weakness, and most of the pain dulled, leaving her in a breathless heap atop the bed.

  No, not true. Her pain hadn’t dulled but had simply relocated. Her chest, just above her heart, began to burn, burn unbearably, and only getting worse.

  “What’s wrong with her now?” Brax asked.

  A frowning Zacharel ignored him, saying to Annabelle, “You are still hurting?”

  “Yes.” She rubbed at her chest, reminded herself to breathe in, breathe out and concentrate on something besides her body. But that was easier said than done, because oh, no, no, no, she felt as if she were actually on fire from the inside out. “Help,” she squeaked.

  Strong hands pinned her arms against the mattress before smoothing over her chest. Zacharel rubbed gentle circles at first, creating friction, then increased the fervency of his strokes. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

  “Trying.”

  “In. Out. In. Go get some ice,” he shouted.

  “Can’t.”

  “Not you. You continue breathing. Out. In. Good girl.”

  She must have blacked out at some point, because the next thing she knew, she lay in a cool puddle of water, her chest on the road to normal. She was able to breathe easily and without prompting.

  “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you, but listen up.” She ran her fingers over her sternum, the skin frozen and wet. “I don’t want any more of that water. I would have eventually healed from the gunshot on my own, and I can’t tolerate that burning again.”

  “Your pain has now eased completely. I do not consider that a waste.”

  “Well, you aren’t the one who just got back from hell.”

  “You are alive, aren’t you?”

  She blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re arguing with me now?”

  “What should I be doing?”

  “Fawning, you turd.”

  He flashed the quickest of grins. “Chalk it up to a rookie mistake.” He pulled a T-shirt out of the air, and helped her dress. He motioned to her brother. “Tell her what you told me.”

  Her gaze strayed to Brax. He watched her and Zacharel with horror, as if only then realizing how close they were. His shivers had slowed, at least. “You healed.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Tell her.” A harsh command that would meet with harsh reprisal if ignored
a second time.

  “After you tell me why you didn’t heal Driana.”

  Zacharel’s hands curled into fists. “The water cannot bring back the dead. Now talk.”

  Brax gulped. “I came home for your birthday. You, Mom and Dad went to dinner and the movies to celebrate a little early because you were going to be with friends on the actual day, and I said I wasn’t feeling well. While you were out, a friend of mine from high school came over. He brought a book and…a joint with him. I hadn’t gotten high in so long, and I felt like total crap, so…”

  Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “What’s the name of the book?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What kind of book was it?”

  “Some kind of, uh…spell book.”

  Her gaze darted to Zacharel. He’d tried to tell her something had welcomed the demon into her life. She hadn’t believed him, and hadn’t really thought the answer would lie with her brother.

  Zacharel nodded, telling her without words the book was indeed the reason.

  “Why weren’t you killed?” she demanded. “Why wouldn’t you wake up the morning of the…of the… I screamed for you, I shook you, but you never even opened your eyes.”

  “I was passed out from the grass. I just… I’m sorry, Annabelle. I really am.”

  “Why wasn’t he killed?” she asked Zacharel.

  “A demon rarely kills his summoner right away. They want a host to possess, so that they can remain on earth. But I’m betting your brother was not possessed because you were spotted, you were desired, and the need to mark you distracted the demon. Your parents got in his way. After that, I’m not sure why you were left.”

  Deep breath in…out… Here were the reasons for her parents’ murder finally laid bare. But there was no comfort with the answers. No sense of closure.

  Zacharel glared at Brax. “Do you yet realize that you are responsible for your sister’s circumstances? Your actions killed your parents, not hers, yet you allowed Annabelle to suffer for your crime. You abandoned her when she needed you most. You.”

  Brax gave a violent shake of his head. “I—I didn’t. Or if I did, I didn’t know. I promise you I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

  The way he had believed her when she had spoken those very words to him?

  Your prints are all over the knife, Annabelle! Yours. Only yours. No one else’s. Do you really think we’re that stupid? Do you really think anyone will believe a monster did this terrible thing? Oh, a monster did it, all right, but that monster is you.

  Of course her prints had been all over a knife. She’d grabbed one just in case the monster came back.

  “You don’t remember anything else about that day?” she asked, pushing the ugly memory to the back of her mind. “A dream, maybe, where someone seemingly wonderful asked you something terrible?”

  “No. I’m sorry,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  Unable to deny him, she offered him a soft smile of forgiveness. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this.” He was the only family she had.

  He closed his eyes as if her forgiveness was too much for him to bear.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, gaze settling on Zacharel. She gasped, did a double take. “Your wings.”

  “What—” He flared out one, then the other. A curse exploded from him.

  Snow once again fell from the tips of the feathers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  HIS DEITY WAS DISPLEASED with him. Again, Zacharel thought. For once, however, he knew why beyond any doubt, without being told. He had assumed responsibility for Annabelle, and she had then killed a human, demon possessed or not.

  Not that Zacharel blamed her for her actions. He would rather suffer the Deity’s displeasure than lose her, and he would have lost her had she not reacted and protected herself. The blame rested on his shoulders, and his alone. He had trained her a bit in the art of fighting demons, but he had not prepared her for a situation such as this.

  “The police will wish to speak with you,” he told her brother. “Tell them what we have discussed and you’ll find yourself locked away as Annabelle was.”

  A thousand emotions crossed the boy’s face. And he was a boy, no matter how much older he was than Annabelle. He lacked her courage, and her fire. “You’re leaving me? But the monsters…”

  “We’re leaving him?” Annabelle echoed.

  “Yes. You are the draw, not him, which means you are in constant danger. And that means you will place your brother in danger if you stay with him. Once you leave him, he should be fine.”

  “Should be?” she demanded, and he knew that wasn’t good enough for her.

  “Will be,” he amended. He would send one of his soldiers to secretly guard Brax. “I’ll make certain of it.”

  The siblings peered at each other, silent, neither sure what to do or say next. Brax certainly didn’t deserve a sister like Annabelle, but Zacharel was still envious of him and this moment. He would have given anything to see Hadrenial again.

  “Well, then.” Annabelle cleared her throat. “Take care of yourself, Brax.”

  “You, too. And, uh, Annabelle?”

  A warm breeze suddenly wafted through Zacharel’s mind, the first sign of the Deity’s coming summons. He stiffened, losing track of the siblings and their stilted goodbye.

  Zacharel, my soldier. A voice that was at once soothing and commanding echoed inside his head. I have need of your services. You will gather your army and stop the demons attempting to infiltrate my temple. As this battle will take place in the heavens, I will not have to worry about collateral damage, will I.

  Not a question. Definitely a dig about his past performance. Also an order from his Deity, as well as his next assignment.

  For however long he was needed, he would not be searching for Jamila’s tormentors, would not be protecting Annabelle, but fighting demons. He’d feared such a moment, and now that fear ate at him with razored teeth.

  But wasn’t that always the way? Whatever a man feared, he received. A spiritual law as binding as all the others.

  “Zacharel?”

  He pulled himself out of his mind. Both Annabelle and her brother were staring at him, blinking with confusion.

  “Come,” he said. “We must go.”

  “Uh, Zacharel? What just happened? You were flickering in and out, as if you were here but not here.”

  “That’s because I was here but not here. Part of me was with my Deity in his temple in the heavens. That temple is being attacked, and I have been charged with its safekeeping.”

  Color drained from her cheeks.

  “Do not worry. I will leave the moment the temple is safe, and we will return to earth.” Not just because of Annabelle’s bargain, but because he would be desperate to whisk her to safety.

  “I—” Her mouth floundered open and closed. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. Now come.”

  With a final wave to her brother, she closed the distance to Zacharel and wrapped her arms around his neck. He misted both of their bodies and flew her straight into the afternoon sky. Brax’s shout of, “Take care of yourself, Anna,” followed them, and Annabelle had to blink away a sudden tear.

  The sun was hidden behind gloomy storm clouds, the heavens a blanket of darkening velvet. Higher and higher they ascended, until the only spots of color stemmed from angels, the off-duty warriors darting one way, joy-bringers darting the other, all determined to complete a task.

  “So many,” Annabelle gasped.

  He maneuvered her through the masses, twisting and rolling and finally reaching a clear patch of air. “Cloud!” he shouted. “Return to me.”

  Five seconds passed…ten…twenty, but his home eventually appeared around him. However, the misty walls were no longer a soft baby-blue; they were black, as slick as oil, as though weeping the essence of evil. His stomach twisted. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t known it was possible. A clo
ud had never changed so drastically and so quickly.

  “What happened?” Annabelle said.

  “I don’t know. It’s dying, perhaps.” The demons that attacked must have poisoned it somehow. “My bedroom. Show me.”

  His bed appeared, as did his nightstand. He reached inside the pocket of air and withdrew— Relief nearly buckled his knees. The urn was safe.

  “Follow me to the temple, and remain within my sight,” he commanded the cloud. “Guard her, give her anything she requests, and when I return, I will end your suffering.” A pang inside his chest. Of remorse? This home had been his only…friend for a very long time.

  Annabelle clutched at his robe. “Let me help you.”

  He hardened his heart against her; he had to. “You have no wings, and carrying you will hinder me.”

  “But surely I can—”

  “You are helping me by staying here and protecting my greatest treasure.”

  “Bedroom furniture?” she asked drily.

  “Inside that urn is all that I have left of my brother.” Before she could ask questions he wasn’t prepared to answer, he meshed his lips against hers, his tongue plumbing the depths of her warm, wet mouth, stealing a last taste before the coming battle.

  By the time he lifted his head, he wanted only to stay with her. But from the very beginning he’d known the temptation for more was the danger of her. He caressed a fingertip along her cheekbone, whispered, “Perhaps the urn isn’t my greatest treasure,” and left her.

  * * *

  ANNABELLE’S FIRST THOUGHT: Did he just imply what I think he just implied?

  Her second: The little woman stays home, while the big strong tough guy goes to war.

  Would their relationship always work this way?

  She studied the urn she was to protect. Clear liquid swirled inside, thicker than the Water of Life, with violet beads glittering throughout. Angel ashes?

  Whatever it was, she would protect the stuff, as she’d been asked to do, and hopefully her debt to Zacharel would be paid. He had reunited her with her brother, convinced Brax of the truth, and though the relationship was anything but smooth, it was no longer hate-filled, either. The possibility for more, for better, was there.