Wicked Nights aotd-1

by Gena Showalter

  To the urn, she said, “I need a change of clothes and a cool, new weapon. Also, wings would be nice.” The last was said on a wistful sigh. “Your brother has done a marvelous job of protecting me and providing for me, but I’d love to show him I can protect and provide for myself, too, you know.”

  “Very well,” said an eerie, laughing voice—one that did not come from the urn. A second later, the cloud shook so violently, she had to grip a bedpost to remain standing.

  “What’s going on? Who’s there?” No one had appeared; she was still alone.

  The moment the shaking stopped, she looked around to assess the damage. Everything appeared the same—until she looked down at herself. Her T-shirt and jeans had been replaced by… What the heck? A sexy devil costume?

  She now wore a short red dress, with patches of material cut out of the waist, just like Driana’s, the hem stopping just below the curve of her butt. A padded forked tail uncurled to her feet. Five-inch stilettos encased her feet. Red fishnets stretched to midthigh, garters hooking them to…matching red panties. Great. Also, her blades were gone.

  “Is this supposed to be funny?” she demanded. “You better tell me who you are and where you are. Now.”

  More laughter, more shaking, and then a rusty pitchfork with glass shards hooked to each of the prongs appeared on top of the bed. “Can’t forget the rest of what you wanted.”

  Her weapon, she realized, the one she’d requested. Wait. Was the cloud able to speak now? “What am I supposed to do with—”

  Another round of laughter interrupted her. The shaking started up again, more intense than before. Her mind whirled with possibilities. She’d asked for a change of clothes and gotten this. She’d asked for a new weapon and gotten that. Dread became a noose around her neck. She’d asked for wings and would get…what?

  When the laughter at last quieted and the shaking stilled, a sharp pain lanced up her spine. But that was it. A pain there and gone, and for a long while, nothing else happened. She began to relax.

  “Cloud,” she said. “I’ve changed my mind about the clothes, the weapon and the wings. Okay?”

  “Sorry, naughty girl, but I’m not the cloud—and there can be no take backs. Just give it a moment. You might like it.”

  As if on cue, warmth burgeoned between her shoulder blades. At first, it was actually comforting. But that warmth heated…and heated…until it was blistering, surely crackling with actual flames.

  “Stop this,” she demanded. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

  Hotter and hotter…sweat beading over her skin, breath emerging shallow and fast. But okay. She could handle this. She could— The flesh between her shoulder blades ripped open and blood gushed down her back, something sharp slicing through muscle.

  Her knees gave out, and she collapsed. “Stop! Please.”

  “Why would I stop now? I’ve been waiting for you, knew you would return.”

  The voice came from across the room this time, and she managed to lift her head enough to see a grinning demon step from the oozing black wall. Not the cloud, after all.

  Stay clam. Don’t let him feed off your emotions.

  Fighting the pain, dizzy, she lumbered to her feet and grabbed the pitchfork. “How’d you…hide from…Zacharel?”

  “Your angel is not all-powerful, and he cannot see all things. I followed the cloud after our attack, and laid siege.” The creature was tall, though thin, with scales as smooth and shiny as black ice. His eyes were red, not the pretty ruby of so many of his brethren, but edged with rust. “The cloud is now mine. Mine to control…to pervert however I wish.”

  “A cloud…can’t give a human…wings.”

  “Well, you are more than human, aren’t you, naughty girl? You belong to a demon.”

  Calm…“I belong to myself.” Drawing on every ounce of strength in her being, she jabbed the tip of the pitchfork at him.

  He hunched his body and twisted out of the way, rendering her attack ineffective. Flashing his too-sharp teeth, he said, “No need to play rough. I’m not going to hurt you…much.”

  Again she jabbed the pitchfork at him. This time he wasn’t fast enough. Contact. The prongs sank deep into his thighbone, the long handle vibrating from the force. Only, he was not the one to scream and drop to his knees as agony overwhelmed him. She was. The muscles in her leg…torn to shreds, surely.

  His chuckle rebounded from the walls. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to give you a weapon that could harm me?”

  “Yes,” she gasped out. “I really do.”

  He took no insult. “The beauty of the pitchfork is that the one who wields it feels the injuries it causes. Tell me if this hurts.” He jerked the prongs from his thigh.

  Another scream left her, a black mist fogging her line of vision. Not because of her thigh—though yeah, that was beyond awful—but because of her chest. Whenever she received an injury somewhere else, razors seemed to scrape at the burn there, as if Zacharel had just poured his water down her throat.

  “Well?” the demon asked.

  “Endured…worse.”

  “If only I was not forbidden to taste you.” He closed the distance between them and crouched in front of her, his vile scent overwhelming her senses. “My master has Zacharel’s other female, did you know that?” He opened his palm, revealing a curling lock of dark hair. “The pretty angel.”

  “He has what remains of her body, you mean.”

  “No. She lives.”

  “You lie.”

  “Do I? Can you really take that chance?”

  No. No, she couldn’t. A conscious effort was needed to keep the urgency out of her tone, to hold herself still. “Just who is your master, huh, that he can do what even Zacharel could not, and bring someone back from the dead?”

  “I am not to tell you. I am to introduce you to him. And if you ask him nicely, I bet he’ll let the female go. Or not. Mostly not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

  His master had to be the high lord who had stabbed her parents, the demon who had marked her, tainted her…ruined her. How she’d dreamed of facing him.

  So yes, she was tempted to give in and go. But would she allow this creature to leave this cloud alive? No. Never. She might not have her blades, and the pitchfork might be a no go, but she had her fists and she knew how to use them.

  The demon’s rusty gaze flicked to the nightstand. “We will be bringing Zacharel’s brother with us, of course.” He clapped, happy with the way things had turned out. “I’m not sure which will hurt him most. The death of his woman or the loss of all that remains of his cherished sibling.” He straightened, reached toward the urn. “Let’s find out.”

  Though she felt as if she were ready to burst apart at the seams, Annabelle struck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ZACHAREL AND THANE HOVERED over the Deity’s temple, watching as hundreds of winged demon minions raced through the night-darkening sky, slowing only when they reached the rivers winding around the structure. Those rivers flowed to the edges of the cloud, cascading over the sides in breathtaking, star-framed waterfalls.

  Most of the demons successfully fought the currents and managed to crawl through the gardens to the alabaster steps, past the ivy-rich columns to the towering double doors leading inside. But the doors they couldn’t breach, no matter how much force they used as they slashed, banged and kicked.

  For a moment, Zacharel was taken back to the night he’d met Annabelle. The demons had mindlessly attacked then, too, all in an effort to reach her. But she was not inside, so…what could they possibly want this time?

  “They’ve never attacked our Deity like this,” Zacharel said. His wings were heavier than usual, the snow continuing to fall. “Why now? For what purpose?”

  “I can only assume they are following orders,” Thane said.

  “Yes, but whose?”

  “Not Burden’s, that much we know. He’s out of commission.”

  “The one pulling his
strings maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who else would sacrifice an entire horde on a suicide mission? And again, for what purpose?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Yes. Interrogation.

  “I don’t like this.” He traced his tongue over his teeth, observed his own cloud—a horrifying black stain in that expanse of deep blue—for a long, silent moment.

  Even though Annabelle was inside, the demons did not attempt to infiltrate the cloud. Oh, they would cast longing glances its way, even move toward it, but all would catch themselves and return to the desecration of the temple.

  Thane sighed. “Let’s say the minions are here simply to distract us. Let’s say another horde is somewhere else, waiting until we are engaged in battle to act. We still cannot walk away from this. We have the Deity’s orders and we must abide by them.”

  Zacharel worried two fingers against his jaw. “You’re right. We do. But that doesn’t mean the whole of my army is needed for this.”

  He pictured half of his troops and projected his voice into their minds. Patrol the heavens nearby, looking for anything suspicious, any type of demonic disturbance. If they were surprised by the new method of communication, they hid it well. This was easier, quicker, and he only wished he’d done it before now.

  He received one Yes, sir! after another.

  On my signal, he projected to the other half, we attack.

  To Thane, he added, “You, Xerxes and Bjorn will escort three demons to Koldo. Alive.” Koldo wasn’t well enough to fight, but he was out of his sick bed. “Find out what you can from them. I’ll join you when the temple has been fully cleansed.”

  Thane slapped him on the shoulder. This was the first time they’d touched outside of training. “Consider it done.” With that, the angel left Zacharel to gather his friends.

  He shot another glance at his cloud—he just couldn’t help himself. Still no demons attempted to enter. What was Annabelle doing? Fuming over his desertion of her? Worrying after his health?

  You are a warrior. Act like one. He blanked his mind, raised his hand and created his sword of fire. In a blink, his soldiers had their swords raised, as well. No one broke rank, acting before the signal was given. That was new, too.

  Zacharel’s war cry blasted through the heavens. “Now!”

  The angels swooped down, Zacharel included. The demons froze in place, most quaking, but none leaving. He hacked his way through them, black blood spraying over the pure alabaster and mother-of-pearl facade of the temple, heads rolling down, down, his opponents dying with…smiles, he realized, as if they knew a secret he did not.

  Again he looked to his cloud, but still the demons stayed away from it. Perhaps he should check on Annabelle. She—

  A heavy weight slammed into him, flipping him end over end. He lost his hold on the sword, and it vanished. He crashed into the bottom step, air shoving from his lungs. No, not shoving. Seeping out. The organs had been punctured—because a pair of horns had embedded in his chest. A paralyzing poison was sprayed directly into his body.

  Distraction killed. He knew that. Oh, but he knew that, and now he would pay. His muscles spasmed as he commanded his arms to punch and his legs to kick, but the limbs did not obey. The demon jerked free, laughed gleefully and shouted for his friends. Soon, minions swarmed Zacharel, biting at him, clawing at him, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

  Are you still at the temple? he projected to Thane.

  Nearby. A rasping reply, indicating the swiftness of the warrior’s motions as he spoke.

  I’m at the bottom of the steps. Help…me. He’d never had to request aid before, and that he had to here and now…it was humiliating.

  An eternity seemed to pass before grunts and groans of pain sounded around him. Teeth were ripped out of him, horns were severed, and one by one the demons began to collapse around him.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been where you are.” Thane remained poised beside him, slaying any minion who dared approach. “The toxin should wear off in a few minutes.”

  Zacharel could only lie there, feeling as though he’d been thrown into the fires of hell. At least he could still see his cloud…a cloud that now had three spots of color in the center. Dark, blooming…red?

  Red. Blood. Annabelle’s blood.

  A demon fell from the center, shooting toward the earth like arrows.

  The cloud, he mentally shouted at Thane. My cloud. Inside. Annabelle. Help her!

  Thane didn’t stick around to ask questions, but darted up. Instantly, the minions who’d been waiting on the sidelines, too afraid to attack with the warrior there, swarmed Zacharel. He nearly bit his tongue in half, so forcefully did he strain. He wasn’t surprised when his shoulder bone popped from its socket. But did he manage to free himself from the taint of the poison? No.

  His face was clawed. His chest was slashed. His legs were sliced. The demons were too happy, too distracted to notice when his muscles finally began to twitch back to life. First his fingers wagged, then his toes, then finally, the toxin dissipated completely. He popped his shoulder back into place and surged into motion. Roaring, he created another sword of fire and swung in a circle, cutting through everyone who clustered around him. Heads flew, and bodies collapsed.

  He spread his wings and bolted into the air. Almost there… “Annabelle!” When he attempted to enter the cloud, he ricocheted backward, bones vibrating from impact.

  Thane flew around from the other side. “There’s some kind of block. I can’t get through without killing your home.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zacharel told the cloud as he swung his sword through the blackened ooze. This was not the merciful death he’d imagined, but it was a death nonetheless. He had to reach Annabelle. Instantly a doorway was created, the edges sizzling, the fire growing, spreading. Zacharel leveled out and zipped to his bedroom.

  Horror filled him. Blood dripped from the walls, covered the bed and the nightstand, and even formed little pools all over the floor—but there was no body. No urn.

  Thane approached his side. “She is stronger than she appears. Whatever happened, she will recover.”

  “Yes.” Would she, though? A vicious battle had clearly taken place here. “Annabelle,” he shouted.

  No response.

  Doing his best not to panic, he searched room after room as the cloud continued to burn from the outside in, soon to vanish forever, but found no sign of her. She had simply disappeared. “She’s not here. How can she not be here?”

  “Could she have…fallen?” Sympathy laced Thane’s voice.

  No. No! Zacharel arrowed out of the cloud and toward land, Thane right behind him.

  I watched a demon leave the cloud, he projected. That demon could have taken her with him, and I simply missed her.

  If that was the case, she would have fought the demon the entire way down, willing to die rather than be captured and imprisoned. If somehow the demon had managed to maintain his hold on her, she would be hurt, and hurt terribly, but Zacharel would rather she hurt than die.

  Hurt he could save. Dead he could not.

  Now, however, he had an answer to his earlier suspicion. The demons had attacked the temple for a reason, only he had not guessed they’d desired his distraction and Annabelle’s solitude. Furious with the demons, with himself, he straightened far too close to the earth’s surface, nearly shredding his wings as they slowed his momentum. The landing jolted his entire body, causing him to stumble forward.

  The first thing he noticed was the demon carcass in pieces on the ground. A fresh kill, the blood liquid, without clots, and not from impact but from claws. Two demons fighting against each other? For rights to Annabelle, perhaps. Zacharel looked around through narrowed eyes, searching for any sign of her. Miles of forest in every direction, the animals and insects unnaturally quiet.

  To the left, moonlight reflected off of something. Something of Annabelle’s? He raced over, leaving a trail of ice in his
wake, and picked up—his brother’s urn. It was empty.

  The glass shattered in his hand.

  “What is it?” Thane asked as he landed.

  Zacharel bent down, patted the ground. Dry. His twin’s essence had not spilled here. It could have spilled inside the cloud, and if that was the case, it was gone forever, rendered nothing but ash. Destroyed by his hand just as Hadrenial himself had been. Or one of Annabelle’s attackers could have emptied it out on the way down. But Zacharel didn’t scent—

  Wait. Yes, he did. He scented his brother: the morning sky, dew drops and a hint of the tropics. Someone had absorbed his essentia.

  Another breath and Zacharel realized the scent was fading. Whoever carried Hadrenial’s essentia was running away. Annabelle? Or a demon? Or both?

  “Zacharel?” Thane asked.

  “Go. Help your boys interrogate the demons,” he said to Thane. If he had to destroy the world to save Annabelle, he would, but he would not allow his soldier to be blamed in any way.

  Without waiting for a reply, he raced forward, telling himself not to allow any more fear or fury. Not now, not later. Already his chest was on fire, surely bleeding, the fissures he’d once felt now full-blown wounds as the emotions poured through him.

  Branches slapped at his cheeks, ripped at his robe. Jagged rocks sliced into his bare feet—the demons must have removed his shoes. Along the way, he bypassed two more demons, one dead, the other in the process of dying. He didn’t stop, but created another sword and slashed in half the body of the living.

  At the edge of the forest was an electric fence. Annabelle, a human, would not have made it over the spiked top, yet whoever carried the essentia of his twin had. He was chasing a demon, then. Only question now was whether or not that demon was dragging Annabelle with him.

  The primal instincts that had driven him to seek Annabelle for pleasure sharpened into something dark and deadly. The fury utterly consumed him, no holding it back, budding into the most destructive force he’d ever experienced. He flared his wings, intending to fly up and over, but his gaze snared on a speck of something dark on the metal links.