Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark)

by Gena Showalter

“What a blessed day this has turned out to be, then,” Bjorn said drily.

  “I’ve eaten little boys like you for breakfast. Believe me, you do not want to mess with me.”

  Bjorn was quick to snap back, “Actually, there’s nothing else I’d rather do than mess with you. And I doubt you’ve eaten them so much as feasted on their rotting carcasses.”

  She lost her eagerness. Actually appeared insulted. “I do not feast on the dead.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Her elbow whipped back, then slammed forward. If Bjorn had not possessed amazing reflexes, she would have broken his nose. As it was, he was able to catch her fist midair, preventing any damage.

  “Such a weakling,” Bjorn said with more of that disgust. Disgust now laced with smug superiority.

  “Is that so?” She knocked her forehead into his, and this time he couldn’t stop her. A grunt left him as he released her. He swayed on his feet.

  Anger rose inside of Thane. “You do not hurt my friends, female. Ever. You told me you would not, and I heard the truth in your claim.”

  Her nose went into the air. “I must have lied.”

  No. He would have sensed it. But it was apparent she had changed her mind. “You will leave now,” Thane said. As if that had still been in question. She was lucky she was still alive. “I’ll escort you out.”

  “Escort me out like so much garbage? I don’t think so.” She spun on her heel and pegged him with the fierceness of her frown. “I’ll show myself out.”

  “Feel free.” He moved aside.

  She cast Xerxes another glance, as if she expected him to do or say something. The warrior did not. Finally, she stomped past Thane, past Xerxes—careful not to touch him. The door slammed closed behind her.

  How many doors would he be forced to replace before this night ended?

  He kept his gaze on the monitors, ensuring she did indeed leave the club. A quick call, and he added her name to the list of people never allowed to return.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he heard Xerxes ask Bjorn.

  “No.” The single word sounded as if it had been pushed through a cavern of broken glass.

  “My apologies for the poor selection,” Thane said. “If you would like someone else, I can—”

  “No!” they said in unison.

  Fair enough. “What did she say to you after I left?” he asked.

  Bjorn massaged the back of his neck. “She’s a mind reader.”

  Xerxes’ eyes widened as he stepped backward, toward the door, as though he meant to hunt her down and slay her for such an ability.

  “I know,” Thane said. “I figured that was a price worth paying for an hour of her time. Besides, she would not get much from us. Merely sexual thoughts.”

  Rainbow eyes glowing with otherworldly rage, Bjorn snapped, “She mentioned what had happened to us. She knew every detail.”

  “Impossible.” Only the three of them knew the worst of the particulars, and there was no way she could have unearthed so much buried so deeply even with weeks of constant contact.

  “Nevertheless. She did.”

  Should have killed her. Thane picked up his phone a second time and told the vampire at the other end, “I have changed my mind. If the woman named Cario ever returns, don’t turn her away. Detain her.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle and struggled for calm. “What shall we do for the rest of the night?” They hadn’t spent a night without at least one of them being with a female in years, but now more than ever, he was desperate for a distraction.

  “I want to discuss ways to rescue Jamila’s body so we can give her a proper goodbye,” Xerxes said.

  Shoulder’s slumped, Bjorn muttered, “If there’s anything left of her.”

  “We won’t know until we find her,” Thane said. “We must search every demon hideout possible.”

  “But we’ll be putting our own lives at risk for a dead woman,” Bjorn was quick to add. Searching a hideout was how they’d been captured all those years ago.

  “Some lives. In all the ways that count, we’re already dead,” Xerxes replied softly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ANNABELLE PACED THE LENGTH of the newest hotel room while Zacharel reclined lazily on the bed. After she’d apologized (and meant it), he’d flown them all over the globe. Days had passed, almost every moment spent in flight as he ensured no demons followed them, and he deserved a rest. But to remain unaffected while she freaked out? So not cool.

  “We’re in Denver,” she said. “Minutes away from my brother’s house.” They’d gone there first, but no one had been home. A blessing or a curse, she wasn’t sure.

  “Yes.”

  Of course that’s all he had to say, the jerk. Why wasn’t he telling her this would be okay, that her brother would welcome her with open arms and she would leave happier than when she’d arrived?

  “I’m going to see him, talk to him.” And question him about the days before her parents’ murder. Cold fingers of dread crawled the length of her spine. Could she do it? Did she have the courage? She could face demons, no problem. But her brother?

  The last few sentences in his final letter played through her mind.

  I never want to speak to you again. You took away the only people I loved, and I will never forgive you for that. For all I care, you can rot in hell.

  “He won’t help us,” she added, her tone hollowed out.

  “He will. Now I will hear you say so.”

  I will not sigh. “Is this the faith thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. He will.” She glanced over at her angel and just…stopped moving. He utterly took her breath away. Dark hair disheveled, green eyes alight with need.

  Need. He has need. Of…me?

  A decadent fire consumed her in seconds, burning her up. She remembered how cool his touch had once been, then how hot, and oh, sweet mercy, she wanted to feel that change again…

  “I’m going to keep our bargain,” she blurted out.

  His chest stilled, as if she’d taken his breath away, and his hands flattened on the comforter. “I cannot stop you.”

  Wait. “You want to stop me?” she practically shouted.

  “No. But I think you are currently overdressed.”

  A laugh bubbled up. Sneaky, teasing angel. “Well, then, let me see what I can do about that.” Trembling, she reached down, fisted the lapels of the hotel robe she’d donned after taking a shower and slipped the material from her shoulders. Hair cascaded into place, tickling her bare skin, and his body went taut.

  “The rest, sweetheart.” A hum of arousal rose from him, luring her, always luring her. “Remove the rest.”

  He wanted her naked, she realized. Vulnerable. His to do with as he pleased. Just then, she was utterly okay with that.

  She hooked her fingers into the edges of her panties she’d bought in the gift shop, hesitated only a moment then pushed the tiny scrap down her legs. A conscious effort was required to straighten and hold her arms at her sides rather than hiding her curves. She was okay, but she was also nervous about his reaction.

  “You are so beautiful, Annabelle. A work of art.” Slowly Zacharel rose to his haunches, wings stretching out behind him. He removed his robe and crawled to the edge of the bed.

  Oh, baby. He was the work of art. Every inch of his body was cut by hard muscle and potent sinew. Skin stroked by the sun glowed with crushed diamond luminosity. But…the smudge of black on his chest, just above his heart, had spread, little rivers winding out of it in several different directions.

  It wasn’t a tattoo, couldn’t be.

  “Zacharel,” she said, concern for him overshadowing her desire.

  “You and you alone have nothing to fear from me.”

  He’d misunderstood her concern. “Zacharel…”

  “Come here, sweetheart. Please.”

  Sweetheart. How could she resist such an endearment? And the please? Yeah. Utterly helpless. They could
discuss the smudge later.

  Much later.

  A step closer to him… Another… She paused. “I know this will be your first time. I don’t want you to worry if—”

  “We will not have sex,” he said, the force of his determination a hard brush against her skin. “Not today.”

  “But…why?” And was that whiny tone hers?

  “When we are finally together, you will not fear me in any way.”

  “But I’m not… I wasn’t—”

  He waved his hand through the air even then crackling with tension. “I have considered this a lot. I have never done anything with a woman, but now I will do everything with you. And in the doing, we will build up to the sex.”

  Uh, just what did “everything” encompass?

  Okay, so, maybe she was a little scared. But that wasn’t going to stop her.

  “I want you, Annabelle,” he said in a silky tone.

  “I want you, too.” An achy whisper.

  “Then come the rest of the way.”

  Another step, and another…until he was able to wrap his wings around her and urge her the rest of the way. The feathers tickled her in the most delicious way, softer than silk, more decadent than fur.

  As if he couldn’t help himself, he pressed his lips to hers, feeding her a soft, decadent kiss of comfort she would never forget.

  “I like this,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I think I will like the rest even better.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “Let’s find out.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “I am.”

  Zacharel guided her backward and rolled her over, then positioned himself between her legs.

  In the ensuing hours…days…maybe weeks…he explored every inch of her, slowly, diligently. He learned her. Nothing was taboo, nothing was wrong. All she could do was cry out at the incredible pleasure. He was hesitant at first, careful with his hands, his caresses soft. But that soon changed, his grip becoming stronger as he kneaded her breasts…as he explored lower.

  He used his fingers…and she realized she could do something more than cry out at the pleasure. She could writhe. She could claw at his back, drawing blood.

  “Sorry,” she managed to gasp.

  “I’m not.” Such a guttural tone. Earth-shattering. “Do it again.”

  She wanted…she needed…him, only him, but he’d stilled, she realized. Had ended all contact. He was on his knees, peering down at her…and licking his lips.

  “Zacharel?”

  He leaned down, and oh, it was like he’d started all over again because he was once again learning her body—only this time he was using his mouth. He kissed every inch of her, managing to wring one orgasm after another from her, until she was begging him to stop.

  He stopped, all right—to reposition himself, pinning her to the bed with his weight.

  “No words… Cannot tell you… Loved.” A rumble of need sprang from deep inside him as he next devoured her mouth, slanting his head this way and that to taste her from every possible angle. Her pleasure expanded, the fire in her burning hotter. Her entire world became focused on the man so devoted to her body.

  “Anna…touch me. Your turn.”

  Anna. He’d shortened her name, made it into an endearment, a curse and a prayer. A command. A command she heeded. As slowly and as intently as he’d learned her body, she now learned his. And because nothing had been taboo for him, nothing was taboo for her.

  With her every touch, every lick, he moaned his encouragement. His strength delighted her. The smooth texture of his skin tantalized her. He had zero body hair. He was beautiful and perfect and every brush of her fingers against him, every glide of her mouth against him was a revelation. This was the way sex was supposed to be, never mind that they weren’t going that far. This was exactly what he’d talked about. A union of bodies.

  Finally, when he could stand no more, he fisted her hair to guide her mouth back to his.

  She stretched out beside him, gave him one kiss, two, then peered down at him. As lost to passion as he was, he was no longer the refined, polished angel she was used to dealing with. He was tousled. He was tense. He was snipping and snarling and rubbing against her.

  “Want you to feel the pleasure again,” he gritted.

  “I’m so close, but I want you to feel…need you to feel it, too.”

  “I will. I do.” He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers hot, and she was instantly there, stars winking behind her eyes, her lungs no longer working.

  She lost track of everything, even Zacharel, floating away, returning, only to leave and float some more. But he must have gotten there, too, so tightly had she been squeezing him, because his roar of satisfaction brought her back to the bed.

  She pried her eyelids apart, that roar still ringing in her ears. Her lungs had started working at least, but her breaths emerged too shallowly. Her body was trembling, a delicious lethargy curling through her.

  Somehow she found the strength to lift her head and peer down at Zacharel. He lay beside her, his cheeks flushed, his eyelids at half-mast. His lips were swollen from being bitten, and his chest was rising and falling with the swiftness of his breaths. He, too, was trembling.

  “Anna…lie here….” He patted the black spot just over his heart.

  “That is a command I will obey without question,” she said, draping herself over him.

  Sweaty skin fused to sweaty skin, and their hearts beat in unison, too fast, too hard, yet a rhythm that comforted her.

  “That, I liked,” he said.

  “Which part?” she teased.

  “Every part. By the time our month away from the heavens is over, I will know your body better than my own. There will be nothing I haven’t done to you, nothing we haven’t tried.”

  By the time our month away from the heavens is over, he’d said, and she instantly sobered. This relationship wasn’t permanent for him. She’d known that since the beginning; he’d made no secret of it. And even she had considered all the reasons they were better off apart. But…

  Yeah. But.

  She’d come to want more.

  “Did I scare you with my words?” he asked, mistaking her reaction. He traced his fingers over the ridges of her spine.

  “No.” And that was the truth. He’d hurt her, cutting her deep in her soul, but he hadn’t scared her. Well, she had him now. That would have to be enough. And when the time came to separate, she would be the one to walk away. Too many people had left her, and she wasn’t going to watch another do so.

  Not ever again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ZACHAREL HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED anything as consuming as being with Annabelle. No matter what they did, as long as they were together, touching, seeking, he was swept up, undone. Remade.

  Afterward, apprehension would attempt to overtake him.

  She made him feel too much. He wanted her too desperately. A relationship could never work, not permanently as he craved—as he would have for as long as possible.

  When his month on earth was over, he would ask her to move into his cloud. She would say yes. He would accept no other answer.

  “So, what now?” she asked him around a yawn.

  “We sleep.”

  “Nope. Sorry, but I already knew the answer and that wasn’t it. Now we talk. I want to know more about you.”

  Such soft, smooth skin she had. Her light, floral scent cast a silken net around him, the gossamer threads somehow stronger than anything he’d ever before encountered. “Such as?”

  “Well, here’s what I already know. You were born rather than created. You had a twin brother, but for some reason you won’t explain, you had to kill him.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  She sighed. “Okay, so you aren’t ready to take my hint and talk about him yet. What else do I know? Oh, yeah. You have a black spot growing on your chest, and it concerns me. You lead an army of angels, and I think you�
�re just now discovering how much you respect your own men.”

  “First, do not be concerned with the spot. Second, what makes you think I respect my men?”

  “Nice try. Like I wouldn’t notice you didn’t say the spot was nothing for me to be worried about, only that I wasn’t to be concerned. I’m on to your tricks, buddy.”