Wicked Nights aotd-1

by Gena Showalter

  Relief poured through her, a beautiful waterfall. “I’ll make you so happy you said that, Winged Wonder.” Very gently, she pressed her lips into his, a soft melding, a gentle exploration.

  “You forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Thank you, Anna. Thank you. And I know, the words are not enough. I will show you how I feel. Let me show you.”

  She opened her mouth, and he rolled his tongue against her. His decadent flavor instantly consumed her; he was the finest aged wine, strawberries dipped in the richest chocolate, and as fresh as a newly sprung river.

  The kiss remained tender and sweet—until he reclined on the mattress and his hands began to roam. The intimate contact ignited embers of sensation throughout her entire body. Their tongues dueled with more force, their lips pressed with more fervor, and they drank and drank and drank of each other.

  He laved her breasts, explored her belly, kissed every inch of her legs until she was writhing. Until he was writhing. Until they were both desperate. Then he turned her over and laved her upper back, explored her lower back, and once again kissed every inch of her legs.

  When she could stand no more, the pleasure too much, she pulled his robe from him and urged him to lie down on his back—and she took over. She laved and explored and kissed him. And oh, the taste of his skin… It was as rapturous as his kiss. The sweetest of candies, drugging, addictive…and she knew she would crave this for the rest of her life.

  “Anna, I need…”

  “More, always more.” Was that slurred voice hers?

  “Yes.”

  Yes. A word filled with hope. “Take it, then.”

  He cupped under her arms, drew her up, parallel to his strong length, and rolled her over. He settled over her, pinned her.

  “I want to take, as you said, but I need another kiss first.” He lowered his head and she lifted hers, and then their tongues were thrusting together.

  Gentle…firm…hard…wild… The kiss spun out of control. He kneaded her breasts and thrummed her nipples, his skin was like a living flame. A heat so different than what burned inside of her. A heat that would seep all the way to her bones, torching the memory of the demon.

  “Another,” he said, his mouth taking and giving, demanding and surrendering. Her nails scraped along the ridges of his spine, between his wings, and her hips arched as she sought closer, deeper contact. She was utterly consumed by this man, and all the happier for it.

  “I love seeing you like this,” he admitted.

  “Underneath you?”

  “All mine.” He moved a hand between their bodies, between her legs. And oh, had he learned how to play her. He knew when to sink in slowly and when to increase his speed. He knew when she needed more…and more… “I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Zacharel,” she said on a wispy catch of breath. “Please. All, everything.”

  He stilled, a droplet of sweat winding down his temple. “You are never to beg me for anything, Anna.”

  “Then you have to… I need…” She bit her lip and rubbed against him. “Please.”

  He cupped her jaw and forced her to stare into his eyes. “Me, you need me.”

  “Yes.” Always.

  He rubbed the tips of their noses together and said, “Will you let me have you?”

  “All, everything,” she repeated.

  “Everything? Truly? Because I told myself I would not take you until I had your pledge to remain with me. Now, I do not deserve such a pledge.”

  “Probably not, but I still give it.” She’d just realized how much she loved him. Like she would really let him go. Yes, she’d once thought to leave him before he could leave her, but that was living in fear, and fear was as much a prison as the institution had been…and so much worse. “Can you pledge the same?”

  He peered down at her with utter joy. “I can. I will. You are my first, last and only lover, Annabelle Miller. I will never take another.”

  “Oh, Zacharel.” Had more beautiful words ever been spoken? “You are my last and only lover, too.”

  “Now I make you mine.” Inch by decadent inch, he sank inside her, claiming her, branding her. When at last he was all the way in, he stilled, strain branching from the corners of his eyes. “I am… How could… Love this.”

  “Hmmm,” she purred. “Yes.”

  “You belong to me,” he said.

  “To you.”

  “No other.”

  “No other,” she agreed.

  His lips found hers, their tongues meeting in a tangled clash. His hands rediscovered her breasts, kneading.

  “You feel so good.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “More?”

  “Please.”

  “Like this?” He moved slowly at first.

  “Yes, please, yes, exactly like that.”

  He moved faster. Faster still. Finally, all she could do was wrap her legs around his waist and hold on. He chanted her name over and over, a prayer, a curse, a mooooan he couldn’t quite contain. She groaned with her pleasure. Every moment, every movement, was perfect, utterly soul changing.

  “Anna…I’m going to…have to…”

  “Give me everything.”

  A roar left him, his entire body bowing. He hit her as deep as he could possibly go, so wonderfully deep, and yet she still arched up and tried to take him deeper. As he shuddered with completion, satisfaction found her and she cried out, holding him tight…holding on forever.

  Even minutes later, when he fell upon her, heavy and lax, she refused to let go. When he rolled, he took her with him and she ended up sprawled on his chest.

  “I have no words, Anna,” he said softly.

  “Good.” She didn’t, either. All she knew was that she would never be the same. This would forever change her.

  This would forever change him.

  He placed a reverent kiss on her temple. “Perhaps I do have two words… Thank you.”

  A soft laugh left her. Perhaps a little change was a good thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ZACHAREL MADE LOVE to Annabelle all through the night. He could not get enough of her. Would never get enough of her or the pleasure she gave him. He loved her breasts, so perfectly lush and perfectly tipped. He loved her stomach, a soft hollow with a tempting navel. He loved her legs, their smooth expanse of wicked delights.

  He loved everything in between.

  He loved the sounds she made, the way she moved, the softness and sweetness and the passion he experienced with her. He loved what she did to him, hugging him, kissing him, making him feel as if he were the most precious thing on earth.

  But what he loved most was being inside her, one with her. A part of her. Twined around her, their breath mingling. Yes, the physical sensations that came with that part had delighted him, but the mental…the emotional…were even better.

  Love. He was the one who had never known its true meaning, he realized. It was not just a pretty word. Genuine love was a gift. Special. Necessary. A lesson his brother had tried to teach him, but one he had ignored. Until now.

  Now…as Annabelle glowed with Zacharel’s essentia, a subtle light that seeped from her pores, as if the sun was living just under her skin. He loved that, too.

  Mine, he thought. She is mine. I will not share her.

  “If you can bear to take a break, you insatiable beast, there’s something I want to do,” she said, climbing from the bed for an endless, abhorrent moment.

  She grabbed a pen from the desk before putting him out of his misery and straddling his hips. He propped his back against the pillows as satisfaction of a different sort consumed him. They were together, no matter what their bodies were doing. Something else he loved.

  “By the way, this isn’t a hint for more,” she said. “Not this time.”

  “Tease.” How she thrilled him, every aspect of her. A fall of blue-black hair around her shoulders, cheeks flushed and dewy. Ice-blue eyes sparkling, lips s
wollen from his kisses.

  “Why did you need the pen?” he asked.

  “We’ll get to that. First, you gotta tell me. Am I going to get in trouble for debauching you?” she asked, then chewed on the end of that pen as she waited for his answer.

  A terrible habit, he thought, gently tugging the thing from between her teeth. “Are you sure you debauched me? Because I’m not convinced. Perhaps you should try again.”

  The warmth of her laughter filled the room, enchanting him. He wanted her to laugh like that at least a hundred times a day.

  “Such a guy thing to say, but no more attempted debauchings tonight. I have to save something for tomorrow.”

  That she planned to spend another day with him, that she had just given him something to look forward to, that she truly had forgiven him… If he’d been standing, he would have dropped to his knees, once again humbling himself before her, thankful and grateful. Now he smiled. A genuine smile of delight.

  She reached out and traced a fingertip along the curve of his lips. “I love when you smile like this.” Her fingertip moved to his cheek, to the dimple Hadrenial used to flash him. “You’re… Actually, there are no words for what you are. Beautiful isn’t adequate, and exquisite barely scratches the surface.”

  Appearance had never meant anything to him. Until now. “Thank you?”

  Another laugh bubbled from her, her skin and her face glowing with health and life and vitality. She was the one who defied description. “Yes, that was a compliment. Now, then. The trouble thing.”

  “No, you will not get into trouble. Remember, the Deity’s angels have a different purpose than the Most High’s, and are therefore governed by the same set of rules as the humans. Yes, my race was created by the Most High, and given to the Deity, but we are more like you. Not that you will ever hear any of us admit it.”

  “Well, all right, then. The pen. I want to play a game with you.” She placed the tip just over his chest, frowned then looked up at him. “Wait. Another question, or a demand really. Tell me about the black spot. It’s bigger than last time—and last time it was big!”

  His gaze flicked to the spot in question. Yes, the black was already several inches larger than it had been two days ago. “When my brother died, I saved his essentia. His love.”

  “His spirit,” she said. “Or soul?”

  “Love is an emotion, yes, but it’s also a power. So I took from his spirit. I took out a piece of mine, as well, so that some part of us would always be together. That removal killed this part of me—” he tapped the spot “—because I did not replace it.”

  A dread-filled moment passed as she absorbed his words. “Why is it spreading? And don’t try to redirect me, or shut me down or tell me not to worry like you did last time. I will play a card you don’t want me to play, because yes, I can be devious like that, and then we’ll both feel bad.”

  He would not have her feeling bad. “The growth was slow but steady until my Deity punished me with the snow for daring to ignore his orders. Afterward, the growth was fast and steady.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why the growth?”

  “It is…death.”

  Her jaw dropped, but she snapped it shut. “Put back the piece you removed. Right now! That should stop the spread of death.”

  “I cannot. What’s in the urn is a combination of Hadrenial and me. I cannot separate the two. They have already bonded.” Like the demon had bonded to her, he thought, his hands curling into fists.

  Her chin went into the air, and he knew her stubborn side was kicking in. “Well, think of it this way. I’m not asking you to separate the two. I’m telling you to use the combination.”

  Oh, yes. Stubborn. “I failed to save his life. I even rendered the deathblow. I do not deserve to live off him.”

  “You gave him what he wanted. You ended his torment. You deserve—”

  “Annabelle—”

  “Zacharel. You are far better than you give yourself credit for. How many times have you saved me? What would I have done without you? What will happen to me if you…if you… I can’t even say the word! Do this. Please.”

  How could he deny her anything? “I…will think about it,” he said, and he would, but deep down he knew that he would not change his mind. If he did as she wanted, he would forever carry a piece of his brother. Him, a man utterly unworthy of such a blessing.

  “Thank you.”

  Guilt rose, but he shoved it aside. “Now, will you show me why you have the pen?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “My pleasure,” she said with a smile only half the wattage of the others. “Have you ever played tic-tac-toe?”

  “I’ve never played anything.”

  “Well, then, prepare to be dominated. I’m a master. I win against myself every time we play.”

  He snorted.

  Hand steady, she began to write on him, treating his chest as if it was a sheet of paper and drawing what seemed to be hundreds of tic-tac-toe boards. He was X’s, she was O’s, and they tied every game.

  Well, they tied until she used his nipple as the center O, lancing sensation to a groin he’d expected to be dead for days. He moaned, and that caused her to laugh, and of course, that laughter distracted him. She finally won.

  By the time they finished, he was marked up from neck to toe, and so was she. Although he hadn’t drawn boards on her—he’d written his name. And suddenly he understood the appeal of tattoos. He liked his name inked into her flesh and suspected he would like having hers inked into his.

  Annabelle formed a circle with her fingers, looking at him through the center as though she was a scientist and her hands a lens. “I want to take a picture of you just…like…this. You’re—” Her eyes darkened to a haunted navy blue, and her hands fell heavily to her sides.

  Each of his muscles petrified, but he fought through and cupped the side of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  “He removed my clothes and took photos of me.” Her gaze practically seared a hole in Zacharel’s chest.

  “Who?” he whispered fiercely, but he already knew the answer. The knowledge that a man had forced his attentions on this lovely woman had irritated him before, even angered and offended him, but now, after everything he and Annabelle had shared, after having his own hands on her, after having her hands on him and learning the beauty of such contact, he was beyond enraged.

  “Dr. Fitzpervert. He did more than take pictures. He touched me, too.” Shame coated her voice, dripping, dripping, coating his skin with a layer of the same black oil that had covered his cloud.

  “Where did he touch you? Tell me everything, Annabelle.”

  In a blink of time, Zacharel felt as though he was breathing fire, his body burning up with fever. While Annabelle was strapped to a gurney and drugged, the human responsible for her care had squeezed and licked her, and touched her in places he shouldn’t. And that the horror of a human had kept reminders of these violations, that he most likely found joy in them…

  “I’m sorry that was done to you.” Sorry he hadn’t found her sooner.

  At last she looked up, and the same fire inside him swirled in her eyes. “When I’m stronger, I’m going back.”

  She was strong enough now, but Zacharel caught the fright in her voice, a piece of her past she had not yet overcome, and knew some part of her expected the doctor to drug her and lock her back up, making her helpless all over again.

  Silent, Zacharel rose from the bed and dressed. He tugged Annabelle to her feet, helped her dress in the new set of clothes Thane had left at the door, pulled a robe over the clothes, and drew her into his embrace. Still without saying a word, he flew her out of the building and across the night sky, cool air whipping against them. She remained quiet, too. No doubt she knew where he was taking her.

  Thane’s report about Annabelle’s life had listed every address of every person she’d come into contact with. The closer they came to Colorado, t
he colder the air became, and even with the fur lining in her robe, Annabelle was soon trembling.

  “We don’t have time for this now,” she said.

  The doctor’s one-story home came into view. “We’ll make time.” Zacharel should have made time before this, in fact. “There is a time for mercy and a time for fighting back.”

  He flew inside, landed and let her go. He wanted to hold on to her, and he also wanted to inflict maximum damage on her tormentor, but this wasn’t about him and his wants, he realized then. This was about Annabelle’s needs. Torturing Fitzherbert would make Zacharel feel better, certainly, but what would that gain Annabelle? Merely a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

  He strode through the home, Annabelle at his heels.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked softly.

  “Me? Nothing,” he replied in his normal tone. This was her war, and her long-awaited victory. He noticed the neatness, the simplicity. Fitzherbert enjoyed comfort over luxury, yet favored aesthetics over practicality. An odd combination. “Unless you desire something of me.”

  “Shh! What if he’s here?”

  “He is. I can hear him breathing. But he cannot sense us.” Yet.

  She relaxed, but only slightly.

  The lights were out, but Zacharel’s gaze cut through the shadows without any problems. He found the bedroom and positioned himself at the end of the queen-size bed. Fitzherbert was a lump in the center, snoring peacefully.

  Beside him, Annabelle tensed.

  “He is divorced with two children,” Zacharel said. “Teenagers. They live with their mother, so he is alone.”

  “Do you think I should…kill him?”

  If she did, Zacharel would be blamed. As with the demon-possessed Driana, he wasn’t concerned by her actions. He would gladly bear the consequences. “Will that bring you peace?”

  A moment of silence. A sag of her shoulders. “No. For the rest of my life I would remember what I did to him, rather than what he did to me. I will have killed a human the way a demon killed my parents.”

  “I will kill him if that is what you desire, and I promise you, I can make his pain last. Or, if you prefer, I can end him quickly. I would be satisfied either way.”