Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark)

by Gena Showalter

  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 w
ithout 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.

  “So, uh, what did you imagine?” she finally asked.

  “Nothing I will tell you. Now, put your arms around my neck,” Zacharel commanded, his voice rough with expectation.

  Had anyone ever told him no? she wondered as she linked her fingers at his nape.

  “Good. Now close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “You and your questions.” He sighed. “I plan to whisk you through the walls and into the sky. The view might disconcert you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Closing
her eyes would make her far more vulnerable than she already was.

  If he was impressed by her bravery, he didn’t show it. His lips, those gorgeous red lips, pursed, even as his wings burst from his back to glide up and down, slow and easy. Mesmerizing. “Also,” he added, “I do not wish to look into your eyes and see the taint of the demon.”

  She had a demon’s eyes? That’s why her irises had turned blue? “But I can’t be a demon,” she gasped out. “I just can’t be.”