Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) (16 page)

As for the bedroom, the same cinched material cascading down the sides of the windows swathed the largest bed she’d ever seen.

Bed
. The word echoed through her mind, a reminder of the horrors to be experienced there…and now she was alone with her captor.

Don’t just stand there. Fight!

A surge of adrenaline giving her strength, Annabelle reached up and back, propelling her swollen fist into her captor’s eye. His arms fell away from her, and she spun, intending to pop him in the throat and leave him gasping for air. She came face-to-face with Koldo, but by the time his identity registered, there was no stopping her impetus. She’d already lashed out, the blades she’d forgotten about aimed at his jugular, ready to cut into his spine.

But he must have anticipated the move, because he arced backward, out of harm’s way.

Thank You again, God. Seriously.
Her arms clomped heavily to her sides. “I’m sorry, didn’t know, couldn’t stop. Where’s Zacharel?” The words spilled from her without a single pause for breath.

“Put your weapons away first,” he commanded. His voice still seethed with an ingrained fury he couldn’t hide, probably didn’t care to hide. He was all emotion, leaving no room for anything else.

“Okay. Yes.” Though she wasn’t frightened of him—much—her heart thundered against her ribs as she struggled to obey. But no matter what she tried, her fingers remained petrified on the blade hilts, too swollen to move.

“Woman! Now.”

“I can’t,” she said, the words broken. He’d already proven he would do anything to protect his friend. Like, say, throwing a strange female across a forest
after
breaking her wrists. “My hands won’t cooperate.”

A moan sounded from the bed, snagging her attention. The covers writhed, the pristine material suddenly reminding her of a violent snowstorm.

No, not covers, she realized. Zacharel. He lay in the center. She’d missed him because his robe was as white as the comforter, the blood somehow having washed away in the bare minutes they’d been separated. She rushed forward.

Koldo extended an arm, stopping her.

She lifted the blades, ready to strike at him, despite the fact that they were on the same side, but he used his free hand to pry the weapons from her grip. Only then did he step aside. Trying not to put any weight on her palms, she crawled onto the bed, careful, so careful not to jostle the mattress.

“I’m here, and I’ll guard you as long as I can,” she murmured when she reached Zacharel, and to her surprise, he stilled. “But I’m not sure how long that will be,” she added, more for Koldo’s benefit. “The demons are drawn to me, and apparently they can find me wherever I am. Zacharel can’t withstand another attack. Not like this.”

His wings were still broken, and without the blood caking them, she could see that patches of his feathers were missing. His skin was chalk-white, his only color the dark bruises beneath his eyes. A large puncture decorated the center of his lower lip. The tip of a branch must have slicked straight through to his gums.

“How did I walk away without a scratch, while he looks like
this?
” she asked softly.

Koldo assumed a post at the foot of the bed. “Did you drink anything before you landed?”

She thought back, recalled how Zacharel had forced that single drop of water into her mouth, and the warmth that had spread through her body, the pain. “Yes. Not much, though.”

“Not much was still enough.”

Excellent point. “What
was
that stuff?”

Rather than reply to her question, Koldo changed the subject.
Must be an angel thing
. “He would not settle until I assured him you were alive. He also made me swear to keep you by his side.”

But…but…why would Zacharel do such a thing? “Is there a way to speed his recovery?”

“Yes.”

When Koldo offered no more, she cast him an exasperated glance. “Well? What is it? The water he gave me?” The water he’d emptied into her before tossing the vial away.

Features hardened on a battlefield no longer displayed any hint of emotion, yet still he couldn’t quite hide the fire banked in his eyes. “That information is not something I will share with a human, much less a demon’s consort.”

“I am no such thing!”

“I will not even share the information with a demon consort Zacharel has decided to protect,” he added with a frown, as if he’d just sensed something odd.

Getting answers from an angel was like rolling a boulder up a hill, she mused—a whole lot of work without much reward. “This secret something that will speed Zacharel’s recovery. Can you get it? Or do you already have it?”

“Yes, I can get it. No, I do not have it.”

Silence.

Make that a boulder with spikes.
“Well, then, get it!”

“No.”

Annnd more silence.

“Unless,” he added—miracle of miracles—without any prompting from her, “you vow to keep Zacharel from the heavens for one month,
without
telling him about our bargain. The only exception would be if he were summoned for battle.”

“Why do you want him kept away?” And why did Koldo assume
she
could force Zacharel to do anything? The angel wanted her to stay with him, yes. He’d also promised to teach her how to fight the demons, so, yeah, she had the stay-by-my-side locked and loaded. But that didn’t mean he would do whatever she desired.

What’s more, did she dare shackle herself to Zacharel for a specific length of time? As she’d said, danger currently shadowed her steps, and that danger had nearly killed him. A good girl would leave him at the first opportunity.

Koldo braced his hands behind his back, his legs apart. A battle-ready stance she recognized, because she’d assumed the same position nearly every time she’d spied demons in the institution. “All I require from you is a yes or a no, female. Nothing more.”

Her gaze swung back over Zacharel, his pain as obvious as the glint of her blades on the floor. His lips were contorted in a grimace and now veering toward the color blue. His broken fingers were gnarled over the comforter, yet too weak to twist the material. He needed Koldo’s “something,” whatever it was, or he would die.

Better he live with her and her danger than die without her.

“Yes,” she said.
I owe Zacharel, and I always pay my debts.
At least, that was her new motto. “My answer is yes.” Could she trust Koldo to keep his end of the bargain, though? Did she really have another choice?

Koldo nodded once, a stiff, rough incline of his head, causing the beads in his beard to clang together. “Very well. Now, one last question. When I leave you, what will you do to Zacharel?”

Leave her? Making her, the now-handless wonder, the only protection Zacharel had? “How long will you be gone?”

“That I do not know.”

Which could mean six hours or six days. Or even six years. “I’ll take care of him as best as I can.”

“The phrase ‘take care of him’ can have many meanings, such as kill him, save him and avenge him. Even leave him. I require you to be more specific.”

Of course he did. He and Zacharel shared the trait, a desire for details while refusing to share with others. “I mean I’ll tend to him, look after him. I would never purposely hurt him, and I will not leave him on his own, helpless.”

He smacked his lips, as if trying to taste the truth of her claim, before he nodded. “He would hate you for calling him helpless,” he said, and then he disappeared.

Hey! “Koldo? Warrior?”

Nothing, no response.

Frustration ate at her. She had no idea how long he’d be gone, where she was or what to do if demons found her before he returned. Especially since her blades had disappeared with him!
So
untrusting.

But she was used to being doubted, used to being ignored, and refused to give way to hurt feelings. So, rather than wallow, she would stand guard over Zacharel. The angel who had saved her life. The man she owed. The first person to look at her as if she were more than a murderer.

Whatever was required, she would defend him.

CHAPTER NINE

“H
OW
’
S
MY
GIRL
?”

“Good, good, I ssswear…if you don’t mind that ssshe’sss with the angel, uh, well…
Zacharel
.” Fear and awe drenched the name.

Grinning, the demon high lord Unforgiveness reclined in his throne, cunningly erected from bones taken from the many angel warriors he’d killed throughout the centuries. The change in his expression caused his four-legged minion to shudder. Usually when he smiled, he was in the process of killing someone.

But then, this was almost as good. The fact that Annabelle was with Zacharel thrilled Unforgiveness to the depths of his rotting black soul. That’s why he’d marked her, after all—to gain the warrior’s attention.

He’d begun to wonder if the warrior would ever find her. He’d begun to regret not giving in to his desire to torture Annabelle while he’d had the chance. Now he was glad for his restraint.

Now he could torture her
and
Zacharel.

Grin widening, Unforgiveness rubbed two blunt-tipped claws over his jaw. Every day he had to file the nails down to prevent himself from killing his prey before he was ready. Because, when the bloodlust came upon him, he lost track of his surroundings, his ambitions, and simply gorged. He forgot food tasted better if it was aged for a few months, unending terror the perfect marinade.

“Do you require anything more of me, sssire?” the minion asked him, still huddling there on the middle dais steps.

“Yes.”

“Wh-what?”

“You will kneel before me and I will remove your head. Your stench offends me.” As did the fact that he’d shown such admiration for Zacharel.

A sob burst from the minion’s too-thin lips, but he did not deny Unforgiveness’s demand. To do so would have earned him a good tormenting before his inevitable death.

“That would be…my pleasure, sssire.”

He assumed the position.

Unforgiveness palmed his sword, swung. The minion’s head rolled down the steps.
And I never even had to stand.
He returned his sword to its rightful place against his throne arm and motioned several other minions forward. They lined the walls of the chamber, some tall, some short, but all ugly and here to serve his every twisted desire.

“You, clean the blood. You, feed the body to my army. You, bring me a morsel to eat. A good one this time, or you’ll join your headless friend.”

They rushed to obey. He almost wished one—or all—would defy him. That would certainly alleviate the boredom of the day. Or rather, the centuries. If only for a little while.

Unforgiveness was trapped here. Only when a human managed to summon him could he leave, and then, he could only remain on earth for the time required to complete whatever unholy task the human had summoned him for, or until the human died. Whichever came first, and to be honest—something he never was—the human usually died.

That had begun to bore him, too…until he’d finally stumbled upon Zacharel’s mate. Oh, yes. He’d recognized what she was, and who she was meant to be with, instantly. Maybe he would tell Zacharel how…maybe not. Either way, Zacharel, the warrior angel who had nothing to lose, the soldier who loved nothing and no one, had something worth fighting for.

Now the real fun would begin.

Finally Zacharel would pay for sending Unforgiveness down here.

Demon high lords were fallen angels who had welcomed evil into their hearts. Yes, Unforgiveness had welcomed the evil all on his own, but he hadn’t meant to do so. How could he have known that the smallest pinch, received unintentionally, would cause more to spill inside of him until no goodness remained?

Once he’d realized what was happening, he had fought, tried to save himself. But evil was insidious, a disease that grew inside you, sometimes so slowly you had no idea it was there. Without a proper cleansing, however, it
was
there, ready to strike, and in the end, you
would
cave under its weight.

Oh, you might cry when you made your first kill, but the second, third and fourth were easier, and soon you would no longer shed any tears at all. Soon you would no longer uphold life in any form. Soon you were merely a husk of your former self.

But Zacharel had known all of this and could have saved him.
Should
have saved him. Instead, Zacharel had betrayed him.

“Your morsssel, sssire.” The minion’s voice blended with the sobs of the damned human female he dragged forward.

Unforgiveness blinked to focus. The female was shoved up the steps and forced to kneel between his spread legs. In her mid-twenties, with brown hair and a delicate face, she reminded him of Annabelle.

Every high lord kept a few minions at the gates of hell. When fresh meat was escorted inside, those minions fought for ownership. Down here, might equaled right. Unforgiveness craved the most bitter and hardened of the males and females, and he got them. No one challenged his minions, because no one wanted to deal with him. But every so often, he would discover a brunette beauty like this one.

Tears tracked down this one’s cheeks. Her eyes were hazel, a deep green flecked with golden brown.

He captured one of the tears with his fingertip, and she flinched away from him. He expected the reaction, even enjoyed it. Once, he’d been a study of magnificence. Females had gazed upon him with wonder. Now, with his crimson scales, his bloodstained fangs, too-sharp horns and spiked tail, he was a study of horror.

“I can taste your fear already,” he said.

Sobs shook her entire frame. “Please. Don’t hurt me, I beg you.”

She lacked Annabelle’s fire and bravery. How disappointing.

But…just thinking his Annabelle’s name filled him with excitement. How badly did Zacharel want her?

What would he do to save her?

What would he be willing to save her
from?

The minions Unforgiveness sent her way were not allowed to rape or kill her. Unforgiveness would have the privilege. And Zacharel would have to watch it all, before at last joining her in death. Well, death of the body, for Unforgiveness would not grant Zacharel the true death: spirit, soul and body. No, he wanted the angel here, transformed into a demon high lord, his actions a film of acid on his skin, loss and failure his lifelong companions.

“Please,” the human said, drawing him back into the present.

A wandering mind would get him killed. Unforgiveness curled his fingers around the female’s neck and urged her face toward his. “Please what?”

“Let me go,” she choked out.

His lips curled into another grin, this one slow and as dark as his soul. “Why would I do that? I must keep my strength up. And do you know how I keep my strength up, my precious?”

Tremor, tremor. “N-no.”

Perhaps not, but she suspected. “Well, it will be my pleasure to show you.”