Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark)

by Gena Showalter

  They couldn’t? “Hey, you,” she shouted, looking around. No one so much as twitched. Wow, they really couldn’t.

  “By the way, if I wasn’t clear, I think you’re a turd,” she mumbled, jumping to her feet.

  “You wanted to train, and so we will train.” As he spoke, his robe was transformed into a pair of loose black pants. No shirt. “But first…”

  His sun-kissed skin darkened…darkened…taking on a crimson hue. Horns sprouted from his shoulders, his wings morphed into something hideous, a thin membrane wetted with blood, and a tail grew between his legs, a metal spike at its end.

  A scream ripped from Annabelle’s throat. She withdrew the blades from their sheaths, and acting on instinct, lunged toward the creature straight from the depths of her nightmares, slashing at him. Horror, betrayal and shock blasted through her, turning her blood into toxic sludge. This thing was a demon, and he’d tricked her. All this time he’d tricked her, even gotten her into bed.

  “You disgust me!” she shouted as she went for his throat.

  Easily he latched on to her wrists, spun her and pinned her against the hard length of his body. “Calm down and think, Annabelle.”

  Despite his grotesque appearance, his voice was the same, was Zacharel’s, and the knowledge caused some of her panic to flee.

  “You still feel safe with me,” he continued. “You feel no hum of evil. I haven’t changed; I’ve simply changed your perception of me.”

  Still she fought him, desperate to free herself.

  He maintained a steady grip. “Calm down,” he repeated. “Think. You’ve seen me change my clothes in a blink. You’ve seen me change the color of my wings just as quickly. It is I, Zacharel, the man who held you in my arms, who kissed and touched you.”

  The rest of her panic fled, and realization at last dawned. Her movements slowed…stilled…and she drew in a deep breath…exhaled….

  When the demons came, they exuded a rotten scent and a sticky film of evil she couldn’t quite scour from her skin. With Zacharel, there was only that sky-rich fragrance and the warm caress of male flesh. “Why did you…change your…appearance?” Her mind might recognize the truth, but her body was still catching up, breath rasping from her lungs.

  “I cannot train you to watch for a tail if I do not have a tail. And do you recall the time I told you it’s possible to overcome fear with action, that how you act is more important than what you feel? I want you to learn to act against a demon even if your heart is pounding and your knees knocking together.”

  Okay. Okay, she could do this. “You can let go of me now. I’ll behave.”

  “Why start now?” He pushed her enough to make her stumble. She twisted around, facing him, keeping the daggers at her sides. His eyes were still a mesmerizing green, and helped anchor her in reality rather than sinking into the past as that metal-spiked tail clanged back and forth, back and forth.

  Her gaze lowered and she watched the thing slither along the ground, unable to help herself. “Did you just make a funny, Zacharel?”

  “You tell me.”

  Suddenly the tail struck out, winding around her ankle and jerking, but somehow not cutting into her skin. She fell, hard, and glared up at him.

  “You should have jumped up immediately and tossed one of your daggers at me,” he said casually. “I could attack you right now, and you would have no defense.”

  Uh, she could stab him—because she still had her daggers. He hadn’t been smart enough to take them away, so there. “Well, for starters, you didn’t tell me that I had permission to spill your guts.”

  “And a demon will tell you such a thing? Give you such a warning?”

  An excellent point. Embarrassed by her weakness and stupidity, she lumbered to her feet and grumbled, “So this is how you teach? Through trial and error?”

  “You would not like my other method. Now. This time, when you see that I’m coming at you, act first.”

  Got it. She waited, watching as his tail swished…swished…and launched toward her. As instructed, she jumped up, causing the spike to dance through the air. But he had expected her to do so and the tail changed direction, darting back toward her to again wind around her ankles and send her to her bottom.

  Dang it! “Just so you know, I’m usually better. The fact that I’m alive should convince you of that.”

  “No, the fact that you’re alive convinces me the demons weren’t actually trying to kill you. And just so you know, twice now I’ve killed you,” he said. “In battle, demons will always go for the dirty move. They will strike you from behind, kick you while you’re down, hit you where it hurts most.”

  “Okay.” Up she stood. “All demons can suck it, so the next time you come at me, you’re gonna get it.”

  “Good.” He offered no more warning than that, striking at her, his tail swiping, missing, swiping again, missing again.

  With that final jump, she angled just enough to land on his tail, earning a yelp of pain from him. Grinning, she said, “Even though you’re a horrible teacher, I think I’m gonna like this lesson.”

  His lips curled in the barest hint of a smile, a dimple there and gone, before he arced one of those beastly wings at her. Jumping up would do no good this time. The stupid appendage was too wide. She did the only thing she could. She spun low, swiping out with her dagger and cutting through the tissue.

  He hissed out a breath and jerked the wing back into his side. Blood dripped down golden feathers—feathers soon replaced by black tissue as he fortified his image. For a moment, Annabelle worried she’d gone too far.

  Then Zacharel nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent. I’m not such a horrible teacher, after all.”

  “Actually, my instincts got you stabbed, not your majestic tutelage.”

  Another hint of a smile. “I will endeavor to do better.”

  “You mean I’m the first to complain?”

  “No. But yours is one of two complaints I’m willing to heed.”

  What a sweet thing to say. But that’s not going to stop me from hurting him during the next round. “And the other came from…?”

  “My brother.”

  So far, every time he’d mentioned his brother he’d shut down soon afterward. After last night, she hoped he would trust her with details about what had happened. “The brother you…killed?” She wanted to know more about him, this man she had welcomed into her bed.

  “Yes.” He said no more, but the sadness in his tone said enough.

  At least he hadn’t changed the subject. “Why did you do it?” Before, she’d speculated that it had been an accident. Now that she knew him better, she had big-time doubts. Zacharel was not someone prone to accidents. He was too guarded, too careful. He would have had a reason.

  The ice shuttered back over his emerald gaze. “He was better off.”

  Clearly that marked the end of the conversation. But…now she wondered if the brother had been sick. That’s usually what better off implied. Poor Zacharel. “Well, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Before the last word left her mouth, he was on her, his clawed hands shoving her down but not cutting her. Surprised, she flailed as she fell, loosening her hold on one of the daggers.

  Between one blink and the next, his weight was pinning her in place, his hand manacling her arms above her head, rendering the weapon she did have useless. Argh! She bucked once, twice, but couldn’t dislodge him.

  “If I were truly a demon,” he said with the same coldness she’d glimpsed in his eyes, “what would you do to escape me right now?”

  “Bite you when you lean down.” As she’d had to do in the institution time after time.

  “And risk swallowing tainted demon blood?”

  Rocks filled her stomach, their edges sharp. “What happens when you swallow tainted demon blood?”

  “You sicken.”

  His tone implied you could die. Trying not to panic, she thought back over the past four years. The only times she’d gotten sic
k were due to overdoses of the drugs the staff had forced on her. So, she must not have swallowed any of the blood. Right?

  “Pay attention to me.” He gripped her shoulders and shook her. “To free yourself, you are to stab one of my horns.”

  “Okay, but not all demons have horns.”

  “And I will show you how to fight the hornless next time. Today, you learn how to deal with horns.”

  In other words, concentrate on the here and now.

  “But you’re holding my hands captive.”

  “And you cannot somehow trick me into loosening my grip?

  Well, yeah. Him, she could. But someone else? “Let’s say I manage it. Wouldn’t the dagger just lodge there, leaving me without any kind of weapon?” Teeth were no longer an option—ever.

  “Yes, and that’s the point. The hard outer shell protects a soft, vulnerable center. If you cut into the nerves properly, you can paralyze the demon for several seconds, sometimes even minutes.”

  Now, there was a tip she could use.

  “All right. Let’s test this theory of yours.”

  Just as she geared up to trick him into loosening his grip, three enormous shadows fell over them and Zacharel leapt off her. Thinking the demons had found her, she scrambled to her feet. Rather than a misshapen enemy horde, however, she saw the blond warrior from the institution—Thane. He appeared and landed at her left, white wings threaded with gold outstretched.

  At her right appeared a robed warrior with hair and scarred skin the same shade of white. The only color he possessed was in the red eyes even now glaring at her.

  Directly in front of her was the biggest male alive—possibly ever created—his skin the most luscious shade of gold she’d ever seen, his eyes a rainbow of brilliant colors.

  “We’ve been searching for you, Zacharel,” Thane said. “We tried to reach you mentally, but you failed to respond.”

  Interesting that he recognized Zacharel, even in this form. Interesting, too, that he had called her angel by his name rather than Majesty, as he’d done at the institution.

  “I had closed myself to receiving.”

  Like switching off a phone?

  “Shall we change our visage, as well, and join the party?” Thane looked over Zacharel’s demon skin and frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He turned to his companions. “He’s bleeding.”

  “She cut him,” the rainbow-eyed guy said, his incredulity unmatched. “Her blade still drips.”

  The scarred guy took a menacing step toward her.

  She braced her legs apart, ready to greet him. “You want to taste my blade, too? ’Cause I’ll let you if you try and challenge me.”

  Zacharel moved in front of her. In a blink, the demon visage was gone, his dark hair, sun-kissed skin and robe returned. “No one touches the girl. Ever. Anyone does, and he will die.”

  “Yeah,” she said, jumping in front of him—only to be pushed back. “He’ll die.” Would no one ever look at her and think she’s innocent?

  All three men gaped first at Zacharel, then at her. Then one by one they nodded. And if she wasn’t mistaken, they cast each other sly, amused glances. That amusement baffled her.

  “Two shockers in one day,” Thane said. “First, concern for my commander. Second, watching a tiny fluff of nothing act as his protector. Are you ashamed, Zacharel?”

  Zacharel tossed her a this is your fault glare.

  She shrugged, not sorry in the least.

  “Well, now that we know Zacharel is so well guarded,” the rainbow-eyed warrior said in a sneering tone, “we have business to attend to.” Any lingering amusement vanished. “We thought you’d like to know that the demons that attacked your cloud were sent by Burden and we now have his location.”

  Zacharel reached back and clasped Annabelle’s hand, as if he needed to assure himself she was there and she was well.

  The one with red eyes perused Annabelle up and down before dismissing her. “He’s at the Black Veil. We tracked him down, but did not have an opportunity to fight him. He let us know that he has Jamila, then he demanded ‘the weak and vulnerable Annabelle’ in trade—and don’t try to gainsay me, female,” he added without looking her way. “You are.”

  “Am not,” she grumbled. She so was, when compared to these creatures.

  To Zacharel, he continued with a clenched jaw, “He also said that if you go with an angel escort, he will behead Jamila. If you refuse to go, he will behead Jamila.”

  Annabelle translated: in essence, Zacharel was screwed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE BLACK VEIL WAS A HUMAN nightclub located in the pulsing heart of Savannah, Georgia. Zacharel had hunted many demons along these sultry midnight streets, and wasn’t surprised Burden had made a home there, or that he’d possessed the body of the human who owned the club, just to feed off the turmoil of the patrons.

  Intensely hot this time of year, Savannah’s humidity was so thick it left a film on one’s skin—even angel skin. Had it not been for Annabelle, Zacharel would have asked the Deity for the return of the snow.

  He was not in his customary robe, but wore a black mesh tank, black leather pants and scuffed combat boots. To add to the look, he’d spiked his hair down the center—a Mohawk, the humans called the style—and rimmed his eyelids with kohl. Tattoos now sleeved both of his arms, and once again his wings were hidden from human eyes. All necessary changes.

  To garner the aid of the only men who could slip inside such a club and act as his backup without Burden’s knowledge, he’d had to vow to dress like this and let the whole world see him. It was utterly ridiculous. If there’d been any other way, he would have hurt the men—the children!—in ways they could not imagine for even daring to suggest such a thing.

  Annabelle alternately marveled at the change in him and at the luminosity of the full moon. Other humans gave him a wide berth, nearly flattening themselves against building walls to widen the distance between them.

  Annabelle danced around him, grinning. “Can I just say what a bad boy you are right now?”

  “Of course you can. You just did.”

  “No, I mean— Oh, never mind, you spoiled it.” Her lips dipped into a pout.

  A pout he wanted to kiss away. He might look all “bad boy,” but she looked…edible. Her hair curled down her back in wanton blue-black ringlets. He’d dressed her in a tight black-and-white-checkered gown with bows at the top and ruffles at the bottom, so that no one would question their association. The hem fell just below her knees, showcasing smooth, bare legs and strappy red heels. She looked like a Goth seventies housewife, ready to await her husband with a spiked drink.

  Besides, the more innocent she appeared, the more Burden would underestimate her. And yes, that meant Zacharel was operating under the assumption that Burden and Annabelle would fight, despite the fact that Zacharel would have given up all of his limbs to prevent the two from breathing the same air.

  Above all, he wanted her safe. Was desperate to keep her safe.

  For a man who’d felt nothing for centuries, Zacharel suddenly felt as if he was drowning in emotion, and not just the desperation. He felt worry for Annabelle’s safety. He felt an intense desire to at last experience everything she had to give before it was too late. He felt concern for Jamila’s safety. Felt guilt over the way he’d treated her. And as irrational as it was, he felt anger that she had allowed herself to be captured.

  She had been under Burden’s control for days. A lot could be done to an angel, a female, in that amount of time.

  Earlier, he’d attempted to project his voice into her mind, but she’d never responded. His Deity, however, had.

  I am displeased. She is your charge, your responsibility. You will handle this.

  He would. But…he should have left Annabelle behind, he thought. He still could. It wasn’t too late.

  But if he did, she would hate him. Hadn’t she told him she would rather die than be locked away? And to leave her behind, he would have to lock her
away. He couldn’t do that to her. Not even he was that cold.

  Besides, what if that was what Burden wanted? To have Annabelle left alone, unprotected, so that he could snag her? But no, that couldn’t be right. The high lord couldn’t know what the human had come to mean to him. He would assume the coming interaction was business as usual, that Zacharel would care more for his angel than the human. Therefore, if Zacharel arrived without her, he would be proclaiming to one and all that she meant more to him than his duty, his vengeance and his army. She would become more of a target than she already was. Then again, they would find out anyway.

  The fact that Annabelle was currently covered in Zacharel’s essentia would proclaim to one and all that he had been with her. But only that, he thought next. Not what she meant to him.