Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) (28 page)

He’ll spin around and attack. Just watch.

Driana opened the door. The guards went first, filing out to await Zacharel in the hall.

Zacharel followed on their heels.

Annabelle’s panic beat at the gates of her mind, desperate to escape.

“Zacharel,” she said in a weak, trembling voice.

His shoulders stiffened, but he never turned around. He was actually leaving her?

Impossible.

“Zacharel!” she snarled.

He paused. His head turned, giving her a view of his profile. He said nothing.

Driana sauntered up behind him. “I’ll take good care of you, green eyes. Promise.”

Don’t do this,
Annabelle silently screamed, but he gave no notice. But…but…

Driana faced her, grinned and waved goodbye. The door shut with a sickening click.

The gates in Annabelle’s mind swung wide-open, panic spilling through her. He’d done it. He’d lured her here under false pretenses. He’d handed her over to the enemy—to men who would try to destroy her—choosing Jamila’s safety over Annabelle’s, despite his pretty words to Burden about valuing all his “charges” equally. He’d tricked her. Used her.

Nothing you can do about that. Not now.

Now she had to find a way out of this.

Burden chuckled. “And then there were two. What think you of that, little girl?”

Annabelle met his gaze with all the bravado she could muster. “I think it’s time to finish this. You and me, right here, right now, winner take all.”

He rubbed a too-long pinky nail between his teeth before he said, “I see now why you’ve garnered so much interest. I find I admire your courage, foolish as it is…and I know I will enjoy breaking you. Which I’ll do, before I escort you to your new master.”

“Ohhh, a new master. Scary. Why don’t you keep me instead?” she suggested. “You can give me a tour of the club.”
I can knee you in the balls and run.
“We’ll get to know each other better and…who knows what else.”

“Darling, it’s impossible to trick me. I’m—”

The door split down the middle. Suddenly wings wrapped around her, shielding her view of the room. “I’m here,” Zacharel said. “I just had to get the guards outside the office.”

Oh, sweet mercy! Zacharel had never intended to leave her alone, she realized, had always had her best interests at heart. She should be ashamed of herself for assuming otherwise, but at the moment she was simply too grateful.

“I thought—” Her words were cut off as gunfire erupted. The horrible clang of metal against metal—and then metal popping through flesh and into bone. Grunts and groans sounded. Shock and confusion blasted through her, holding her immobile. War had broken out, but all Annabelle could do was stand there, clutching the collar of Zacharel’s robe.

Robe? Yep, she realized. The street clothes had melted away, returning to a flowing drape of material. “Friends of yours?” she asked.

“Yes. Their timing leaves something to be desired. They should have burst into the office much earlier,” he added more loudly.

“Hey!” someone said. “We got up here as fast as we could.”

“Then you need more training,” Zacharel growled.

Annabelle gave him a shake. “What can I do to help?” She owed him. Because really, this had all happened because of her. She didn’t want anyone else hurt on her account.

A pause as Zacharel panned the room. “There is no need for you to do anything. Burden is already contained.”

“True that. We’re all done, big guy. You’re welcome, by the way,” said a husky voice she recognized.

A voice she would never forget, because it shivered through her with unnatural force. Of course, the scents of champagne and chocolate drifted to her nose, confirming her suspicions.

The man possessed by the demon of Promiscuity was here.

Annabelle would have assumed a defensive position—or maybe offensive—but Zacharel held her steady.

“You’re not done until you clean up the mess,” he announced harshly.

Wait. They were working together?

Do not assume the worst. Not this time.

Grumbles, then, “Whatever you say, angel cake,” a woman said. “Dibs on telling others what to clean!”

“Kaia,” a man groaned. “You are
such
a brat.”

“You’re only jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

“True.”

Different sounds soon filled Annabelle’s ears. Something being dragged. A body? A trash bag being opened. Heavy things falling inside, landing. Mumbles of complaint.

She blocked each one. “Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”

“Because demons can taste fear.”

“And he needed to taste mine to believe you,” she finished for him.

“Not necessarily. Even though you are learning to look past such emotions, I needed your reactions to be honest.” At long last, Zacharel’s wings lowered.

Annabelle spun. Smears of blood covered the walls and floor, though she could tell someone had tried to wipe them away. Other than that, there was no sign that a battle had taken place. Four bloodstained male warriors and the three females stood in the center of the room, each studying her with avid interest.

She would have studied them right back, but then she caught sight of Burden, still at his desk, his cheek pressed into the surface and a blade poised at the center of his neck, between two ridges of spine.

A horribly scarred man held that blade with a steady hand. “What do you want me to do with him, angel?”

“My men will come and collect him. We have questions, and he has answers.”

“You said your men were not here,” Burden gritted out.

Zacharel smiled the cruelest of his grins. “And they are not. Yet. I told you I brought no angels with me, and unlike you, I’m a man of my word. But I didn’t make any promises about demons, did I? Allow me to introduce you to the Lords of the Underworld.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
HANE
, X
ERXES
AND
B
JORN
strode into the office, but they didn’t say a word, and they didn’t stay. They collected Burden and took off. Everyone watched, silent.

As their footsteps echoed, Zacharel introduced Annabelle to the group who’d saved the day. Most were demon possessed, yet clearly Zacharel knew them, liked them—and wouldn’t let her hurt them. Lucien carried Death. Strider carried Defeat. Amun carried Secrets and, of course, Paris, the guy who’d needed a light for his cigarette, carried Promiscuity.

The best she could do was incline her head to acknowledge she’d heard their names. Demons were demons, no matter how you sliced it. She wanted nothing to do with them.

The women weren’t possessed, but they seemed just as dangerous—if not more so. Kaia was a redheaded Harpy, whatever that meant. Anya was a gorgeous blonde stunner and the supposed goddess of Anarchy, and Haidee was…undoubtedly something, though no one would say what.

Haidee’s tanned skin glowed with health and vitality, a rosy blush stained her cheeks and a smile brightened her face. She rocked pink highlights in her hair, her arms were sleeved with tattoos, and she wore an adorable Hello Kitty dress. Zacharel refused to so much as glance in her direction, had barely even acknowledged her, yet Annabelle battled the urge to walk over there and hug her.

Why?

Better question: Harpies, goddesses, human-looking girls of mysterious origin—what else was out there? What else was Annabelle ignorant about?

A glint of silver caught her attention and Annabelle bent down to pick up…a dagger. Sweet! The battle was over, yeah, but better safe than sorry, considering what surrounded her.

“You’re glaring at my friends, and now you’re armed. Why are you glaring at my friends, human…girl…person?” The redhead stepped into Annabelle’s personal space, claiming her notice by rising on her tiptoes to pat her on the top of her head. “Never mind, I can guess. You think that because they’re possessed, they’re pure evil. Well, news flash, china doll. The demons are evil, but the guys who house them are marshmallows. I’m the real nightmare here.”

At five feet nine, Annabelle towered over the girl. She lifted her gaze to Zacharel, who stood as unyielding as an iron fence, silently asking if he would get into trouble if she knocked Kaia around. Did no one know the difference between Chinese and Japanese?

He gave a negative shake of his head. “Never mess with a Harpy.”

“I still have no idea what a Harpy is,” Annabelle pointed out.

“A death machine, that’s what,” Kaia said.

“But…”

“No buts, Annabelle.” Zacharel looked to the redhead. “And, Kaia. Behave.”

“Fine. But only because you somehow turned this black as night day into a bright shining light, so I’m gonna do you a solid and obey. Want to know how you did that, huh, huh? Good, I’ll tell you.” She barely paused to pop a bubble with her gum. “You used to give Lysander crap about dating my darling sister, but look at you now. You’re pulling a Paris and dating a Hunter, aren’t you, and they’re the worst of the worst!”

Pulling a Paris? A hunter?

Zacharel must have sensed Annabelle’s confusion. “The Hunters are fanatical slayers of the paranormal. They will do anything, even destroy an entire city of innocents, to meet their goals.”

“I am
not
a Hunter,” she snapped.

“That’s what they all say, honey.”

Zacharel released a long-suffering breath. To Kaia, he said, “Annabelle hasn’t yet learned that a man is not the same as the demon tormenting him, that a man can fight the evil and win, and that too many people believe in acting on what they feel and see rather than believing that they can have more, do better, like the Lords. And I can’t blame her. I have only recently learned this lesson myself.”

So the Lords had fought against the evil of their demons and won? Such a victory must have come at a terrible price, she thought, remembering the number of battles she’d fought and lost. Respect for them bloomed, and she forced her grip to ease on the dagger—only to realize Kaia had wrapped her hand around her wrist, claws sinking past skin, probably even into bone. Scalding heat radiated from her.

“You’re too hot,” Annabelle gritted out. Hotter than Zacharel’s hands sometimes were.

The tiny female smiled unabashedly. “I know, right! But my twin sister is way hotter, I promise.”

Twin? There were two of them?

“Kaia,” Zacharel began, as Annabelle said, “Let go of me, tiny tot. Now.”

“Tiny tot. Cute. But what’s the magic word?”

“Kaia!” Zacharel and Strider said in unison.

“Nope. That’s not it.”

Annabelle blurted out a rough, “I’ll kick you in your lady balls if you don’t.”

“Bingo!” One by one, Kaia pried her nails loose, leaving little red welts on Annabelle’s skin.

“I think you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Annabelle groused.

“And you’re the sweetest. So tell me,” Kaia said, and popped another bubble. “Is Zacharel a good lover? Because I’ve got big money on the answer being no. Yeah, he has big hands, and he really knows what to do with them on a battlefield, but have you ever tried to banter with him? Dude is clueless. I figure the same cluelessness extends to the mattress mambo.”

“Uh…” Suddenly everyone in the room was staring at her. Including Zacharel. “He’s, uh, great?” Never had she been more uncomfortable.

“Oh, man.” Kaia’s shoulders slumped.

Strider, the demon keeper of Defeat, whooped and fist-pumped the air. “Told you, baby doll.
I told you
.”

Kaia spun, piercing him with a glare. “The fact that you won a bet about another man’s sexuality isn’t something to brag about, you idiot.”

He blew her a kiss. “You’re sexy when you’re a sore loser.”

She brightened, fluffed her hair. “Of course I am, but I challenge you to prove it.”

“With pleasure.” The two just kind of leapt at each other, kissing as if the other’s mouth held a lifesaving supply of oxygen.

Does anyone else find this bizarre?
Apparently not. A rapid-fire conversation ensued between the rest of the males.

Zacharel: “The club?”

The scarred warrior, Death: “Cleaned out.”

Zacharel: “The humans?”

The beautiful Promiscuity: “Unharmed, as requested.”

Zacharel: “Demons and the demon possessed?”

The goddess of Anarchy joined in, pumping her fist toward the ceiling as Strider had done. “I killed them dead!”

Zacharel: “What?”

Anya, pouting: “Fine. I only killed them dead in my mind. I had Lucien lock them up, as you commanded. Happy now?”

The big, black warrior with dark eyes said something through sign language before throwing his arm around the pink-haired babe. Amun and Haidee were dating…or whatever it was called when two not-quite humans hooked up?

Zacharel gripped Annabelle’s shoulders and forced her to face him. When she met his gaze, the rest of the room ceased to exist. There was only her angel and his emerald eyes. He said, “I’m leaving you here, with the warriors and their women. They will not hurt you, and you will not hurt them.”

First she experienced another wave of panic—
he’s leaving you again!
—then anger—
you don’t need him, you can take care of yourself!
—then determination. Who better to teach her about the different kinds of demons than demons themselves? Wasn’t that why Zacharel had morphed into one during their first sparring lesson? Although…could she really believe anything these people told her?

“Fine, whatever,” she said, trying for a lighthearted tone. “So where are you going?”

He ignored the question. “Vow it.”

She sighed. “I won’t hurt your friends—unless they attack me. I vow it. Now, where are you going?”

“Below. I will not leave the club without you, and no one in this room will attack you,” he said loudly, so that everyone could hear. “They will keep you safe, putting their lives at risk if necessary. Even if they do not trust you. Won’t they?”

Silence.

“Won’t they?” he shouted.

Wow. She’d never heard him raise his voice like that.

Murmurs of agreement echoed.

“Just so you know, I’m trustworthy,” she grumbled.

“Are you?” He gave her a little shake. “It’s too bad you wouldn’t say the same about me. You thought I meant to trade you and desert you here. You actually thought I would let Burden and his men hurt you to save another angel.”

Anger radiated from him, shaming her. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to think?”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to do it.”

“Well. Hmm. Maybe I didn’t. I mean, I don’t actually recall ever saying anything about the stupid plan you refused to share with me until too late.”

“You thought it. There’s no denying that.”

Being with a man incapable of telling a lie—a whole lot of awesome. Being with a man who could taste when
you
lied—sucked the big one. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve never had someone protect me before. This is new to me.”

He got in her face, his warm breath mingling with hers. “Are you truly sorry for your wrongful beliefs, or are you merely sorry I deduced the truth? Think about that while we’re apart. And when next you see me, apologize again and mean it.” With that, he strode from the room, Amun and Haidee following behind him.

Annabelle studied the remaining occupants. Immediately they all spun innocently away, some even whistling under their breath, others checking their cuticles.

This was gonna be fun.

And yes, that was sarcasm at its finest.

* * *

I
DESERVE THIS,
Z
ACHAREL
thought darkly. He so deserved a woman who would give him as much trouble and grief as he had given his Deity. But his new army was supposed to teach him this lesson, not his lover.

And she was his lover, despite the fact that they had yet to consummate their relationship. He would tolerate nothing less. But oh, how he missed the days of ignorant bliss, when he hadn’t known the pleasure to be found in a soft, warm body. When he had not known the driving force of anger.

Yes, anger.

Anger was like fear, and he did not have to act on it. He could ignore it.
Had
ignored it, for the most part. But the fissure inside his chest was close to bursting. Annabelle had doubted his integrity, and he had wanted so badly to spank her. Perhaps scream at her. Instead, he had cringed at the very idea of hurting her feelings and making her cry, and so he had done nothing.

“I’ve got a little piece of advice for you.” Haidee kept pace beside him. Once a Hunter and a keeper of Hate, she now carried a pinch of Hadrenial’s love, all because of Zacharel’s split-second decision to save her.

A mistake, perhaps. Looking at her now
hurt
. But he’d wanted her to live, her loss too much for Amun to bear, the warrior’s grief reminding Zacharel of his own after Hadrenial’s demise, and “sharing the love,” as the humans like to say, had been the only way.