Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) (32 page)

“You were a child. What more could you have done?”

“Like you were a child when your twin was taken?”

His jaw clenched painfully. She was trying to absolve him of his own wrongdoing. While he liked that she tried, there was a difference in their stories. She had fought for her parents’ lives; he had taken his brother’s.

“Hadrenial begged me to kill him. I couldn’t do it, though. Not at first. I loved him with all that I was, and I finally had him back. I thought he would heal, and physically he did. But he was determined to die and kept hurting himself in the worst of ways. Kept hurting others in an attempt to force them to act against him. I knew one day he would succeed and if that happened, his spirit would be cast into hell. I would never again see him.”

“So you finally did it.” Her voice was layered with sadness.

“Yes. I killed him to save him.”

He expected disgust. He expected horror. Instead, Annabelle calmly asked, “And also ensured you would one day be together?”

“No,” he croaked. “He did not wish to live, even in the afterlife. I ensured he experienced the true death. I poisoned his spirit.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Like humans, we are spirits, the source of life. We have a soul, or the embodiment of our logic and emotions—and we live in a body.”

“So…what is the spirit if it’s not the same as the soul?”

“The soul is the middleman, so to speak, intertwined with both the spirit and the body. Without the spirit, the body could not survive, for the spirit is the outlet, where the electricity awaits, the soul is the plug, and the body is that which is propelled into action. Make sense?”

“Yes.”

“For a true death, you must destroy all three. I poured water from the River of Death down his throat, killing both spirit and soul, and then burned his body.” And yet, some small part of Zacharel still hoped for the best, imagining that Hadrenial had not truly died even then, but that his spirit had passed into the Most High’s kingdom, where he awaited Zacharel’s death so they could be reunited one day.

“I’m sorry, Zacharel. The agony of such a choice…the pain of such a loss…”

If he said any more, he would break down. He sensed it, grief churning deep in his gut, ready to spill out. “Sleep now, Annabelle.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tomorrow you must face
your
brother.”

* * *

B
Y
MORNING
,
HOLDING
A
NNABELLE
in his arms had sharpened Zacharel’s newfound need into a deadly edge. She had tossed and turned, rubbing her body against his, tracing her hands all over him.

He had done nothing about it. And he wouldn’t, not until he had her pledge to remain with him.

While she showered—and he fought the urge to join her—he summoned Thane and commanded the warrior to procure for her a pink T-shirt and a pair of jeans, as well as new undergarments. Also in pink. Zacharel wanted to see her in the feminine color, and so he would. It was as simple as that.

To his utter bafflement, Thane already had the desired clothing in one of his air pockets. As Zacharel removed the tags, he wondered if the items had been meant for the man’s lovers.

“Do you have an extra set?” Just in case.

“Of course.” Thane handed him the clothing, and Zacharel placed the extra in an air pocket.

“She’ll need these, too, I’m sure,” Thane said, handing him two bejeweled blades.

He claimed them, saying, “Wait here.” Leaving Thane on the balcony, he deposited the first set of clothing in the bathroom, the air thick and misty and smelling of floral shampoo. Even sweeter, Annabelle was singing off-key.

“Loves like a hurricane, something, something, something, bending beneath the weight, something, something, mercy.”

She did not know all the words, he realized, and had to fight a grin. Adorable. But what struck him deepest was that she sounded…happy.

He left before she caught him listening—and enjoying—and returned to the balcony. The door was still open, the chill of dawn seeping inside.

Thane stood on the edge of the railing, at the ready.

“Your next mission is food for her,” Zacharel said.

“I’m her servant now?”

“No. You are mine.”

A pause. “Why am I not offended by this?” the warrior murmured. “Why am I actually enjoying myself?” White wings threaded with gold exploded into motion, and Thane disappeared in the air. He wasn’t gone long, ten minutes at the most, yet he returned carrying a sack overflowing with breads, cheeses and fruits.

“Thank you.”

A gleam of surprise in Thane’s sapphire eyes, followed by a respectful incline of his head. “Anytime. I think.”

Zacharel rattled off an address. “Make sure the owner is home. If he’s not, wait for him. Once you have verified his presence and I have taken your place, you are free for the rest of the day.”

Another thank-you, and Thane again disappeared.

And just as Annabelle emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later,
He is home
whispered through his head.

He meant to acknowledge the words, and would have, if he hadn’t been struck dumb. He could only stare at Annabelle. The steam formed a cloud around her, creating a dream haze. She had dried her hair, the mass hanging down her arms, straight as a board. Pink cotton clung to lush breasts.
I’ve had my mouth on those.
The jeans kissed her legs with erotic abandon. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Thane had nailed her sizes.

She looked so young and fresh, so…innocent. “You like?” she asked.

“More than like. You are beautiful.”

“I can’t take full credit. It’s the pink.”

“It’s the woman.”

Slowly she grinned. “Someone is on his best behavior today.” She glanced at the table piled high with the food, then back at him. “I’m too nervous to eat.”

“You must keep your strength up. I will tolerate no excuses.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she said with a sassy salute. “And by the way, I take back my
best behavior
comment.”

“There can be no take backs.”

“Can, too.”

He supposed, now that he’d licked every inch of her, the nature of their relationship would never be the same. She’d tried to warn him; she would never take his orders, and he would just have to like it.

As long as he had her, he would like it.

She picked at the food for half an hour before he grabbed her hand and a banana and led her outside, using an air pocket to shield her from prying eyes. By the time they reached her brother’s home, she’d managed to choke down half the fruit. Not good enough, but it would have to do.

He caught a glimpse of Thane, who was in the process of flying away, when he landed on the porch. Though Zacharel wanted to whisk inside the home, Annabelle insisted they knock and wait for an invitation to enter. Manners. Such a novelty. But Zacharel suspected the brother would not open the door to her, and for that reason, he made sure only
his
face was noticeable through the windows and peephole by keeping Annabelle hidden.

“Maybe we should go,” Annabelle said, rubbing at the center of her chest.

She did that every time she was nervous. Or scared. Why? “He will not hurt you. I will not let him.”

Her crystalline gaze was grave. “There are a thousand different ways to hurt someone, Zacharel.”

That, he knew well. “There are also a thousand different ways to heal. Trust me in this. Your faith is out there. You said you expect a relationship with your brother to bloom, and you are even beginning to believe it, whether you realize it or not. That’s why you’re here. So, even when it doesn’t look like it’s going your way, continue to believe. If you do not give up, you will see results.”

As he rapped his knuckles against the wood, his robe became a plain white T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting drawstring pants. He waited one minute, two, then knocked again. When that failed to gain results, he rang the doorbell over and over again. He knew Brax Miller was inside; Thane would not have let him leave.

Finally a voice snapped, “I’m coming, jeez.” Footsteps pounded, and in the next blink hinges were squeaking and a tall, leanly muscled male in his mid-twenties was opening the door.

Brax possessed the same blue-black hair as Annabelle, only his was cut short and shaggy. He had uptilted eyes of gold rather than crystalline blue. The eyes Annabelle had once had, Zacharel would bet.

“Yeah?” the man said. He was shirtless, his jeans hastily tugged on and gaping around his waist.

Beside him, Annabelle sucked in a breath. Not that the human heard. He couldn’t sense her in any way. “You are Brax Miller.” A man who had inherited a lot of money after his parents’ death. Money he would blow through entirely within the next year, according to the report Thane had brought him all those days ago—the one detailing Annabelle’s life, as well as her remaining family’s.

“So?” His jaw held the faintest trace of a beard, and his eyes were red-rimmed, lines of tension branching from them. Not from lack of sleep, either. The scent of alcohol and…Zacharel sniffed…heroin seeped from his pores. Wonderful. He was a drug addict, his memory probably tainted.

Didn’t matter. Zacharel had to try. “So you will let me in, and we will discuss your sister.”

A terrible stillness came over the man. His reaction to the ring of truth in Zacharel’s tone, perhaps. Next, a terrible mix of emotion detonated inside those golden eyes, and he snarled, “I don’t have a sister!” He attempted to slam the door in Zacharel’s face, but Zacharel shoved his foot between the door and its frame.

“We gave your way a try,” he said to Annabelle. “Now it’s time for my way.” He flattened his palm on Brax’s chest and pushed. Just a little push, but the man flew backward and slammed into the foyer wall.

Zacharel shouldered through the door, kicking the thing shut after dragging Annabelle in with him. As the addict jumped to his feet, intending to launch himself into an attack, Zacharel removed the air hiding Annabelle from view.

Brax caught himself, stumbled forward, then back. For a moment, he could only stutter over the words
Annabelle
and
institution
and
here.

“Surprise. I’m out,” she said, unmistakably dejected.

“Believe,” Zacharel snapped at her.

She gulped, nodded. “And I’m happy to see you. One day, you’ll be happy to see me.”

Her brother gathered his wits, squared his shoulders. “What are you doing here? Your escape has been all over the news, but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come to
me
.”

In a blink, Zacharel had a hand wrapped around Brax’s throat and his body pinned against the wall, his legs dangling. Until her faith was made manifest, he would have to ensure Brax behaved himself. “You will watch the way you speak to her, or you will suffer.”

A soft hand on his shoulder, a beseeching voice in his ear. “Zacharel. Let him down, please. Despite everything, I love him the way you love Hadrenial. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

Golden eyes widened, bulged, really, as Zacharel increased the pressure. “Just a little longer. He disrespected you.”

“Think about what he’s been through, though. He saw the bodies in our garage, he saw the blood. Then he had to relive it when the police showed him pictures of the crime scene. He thinks I’m responsible.”