Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) (43 page)

“As for now, go home. Rest. Tomorrow I upend your entire world.”

Thane, Bjorn and Xerxes shared an uneasy look before flying out of the room. Koldo scowled. Then every member of the army was gone, and Zacharel was alone with Annabelle.

He misted her into another room, one that was clean. “You, I upend now.” He backed her into the bed.

Her knees hit and she fell to the mattress with a gasp and a chuckle. Blue-black hair spread around her shoulders. Her robe gaped open, revealing one of his favorite parts of her.

“So naughty, my angel,” she said. “And look! Your wings are solid gold now. And there’s no snow!”

He looked at the left, then the right. “I am now one of the Elite.” One knee on the mattress, two, he straddled her thighs. “That will be celebrated—later. Right now we have a melding to begin.”

She was a sensual feast for his eyes. He was so mesmerized, he missed the movement of her hands. She latched on to his shoulders and pushed him down, placing herself on top.

Her grin was languid. “We’ll get to the melding. After you’ve begged.” A vow.

A vow she made good on. Her hands roamed over him, stripping him, stroking him, and all too soon he was begging, unable to help himself.

Just before she collapsed over him, wings of white burst from between her shoulder blades.

She sat back up, gasping, and looked the wings over. “What the… I don’t… How did that…”

A genuine laugh shook him to his very depths. “When you held the demon essentia, your negative emotions brought forth the demon appearance. You now hold an angelic essentia, and so your positive emotions bring forth this appearance. Now, enough distractions. I want you again, Anna.”

“Well, it
is
my turn to beg…”

Hours later, when they were both sated, she snuggled in his arms, resplendent and his, all his. This was the life he’d never dared dream for himself. One he would cherish forever, because he knew how close he’d come to losing it.

“So about this melding,” she said with a yawn. The wings had vanished, but they would be back.

“You had first to pledge your life to mine, and you did—when I made
you
beg. I took care of the rest.”

“Took care of—so we’re melded?”

“Now and forever. As soon as I knew you were willing, and while you were distracted, I took a little piece of your spirit. It can be painful, and I did not want you hurting.” Not ever again.

“My sweet prince.” She kissed the beat of his heart. “Hey, your black spot is gone!”

“You saved me.”

“I guess that means you owe me. Which brings me to the second order of business, then. I want to help you fight demons.”

“I never doubted it.”

“Really? You’ll let me, without pouting like a baby?”

“First, I never pout. I ponder, and probably quite sexily. Second, as you’ve told me, you have already spent too much of your life in a cage. I will not put you in another.” But that did not mean he would sit back and let some demon harm her. Zacharel would do his utmost to guard her during every battle. Besides, when one of them died, the other would follow. He would never have to be without her.

“I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I am a sweet man.”

She laughed with carefree abandon, and he loved the sound, was determined to make her laugh like that every day for the rest of their eternity.

“What’s so funny?” he teased. “I
am
a sweet man.”

“And what’s this sweet man’s plan for his army, hmm? What changes are you about to rain down on their heads?”

“Discipline, dominance and consequences. Of course.”

Another laugh. “You’re right.
Sooo
sweet.”

“No, but then, my sweetness is reserved for you. Only, ever for you.”

* * * * *

The adventures of the
ANGELS OF THE DARK
have only just begun. Don’t miss Koldo’s story, BEAUTY AWAKENED coming soon from Gena Showalter and Harlequin HQN!
Keep reading for an excerpt of
The Darkest Night
by Gena Showalter!

Don’t miss the series that inspired
Wicked Nights.
Download the Lords of the Underworld series by
New York Times
bestselling author Gena Showalter. Available now!

The Darkest Fire
(prequel short story)

The Darkest Night

The Darkest Kiss

The Darkest Pleasure

The Darkest Prison
(short story)

The Darkest Whisper

Heart of Darkness
(includes “The Darkest Angel” short story)

The Darkest Passion

The Darkest Lie

The Darkest Secret

The Darkest Surrender

The Darkest Seduction

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CHAPTER ONE

E
VERY NIGHT DEATH CAME
,
slowly, painfully, and every morning Maddox awoke in bed, knowing he’d have to die again later. That was his greatest curse and his eternal punishment.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing it were a blade over his enemy’s throat instead. Most of the day had already passed. He’d heard the time seep away, a poisonous tick-tock in his mind, every beat of the clock a mocking reminder of mortality and pain.

In little more than an hour, the first sting would pierce his stomach and nothing he did, nothing he said, would change that. Death
would
come for him.

“Damned gods,” he muttered, increasing the speed of his bench presses.

“Bastards, every one of them,” a familiar male voice said from behind him.

Maddox’s motions didn’t slow at Torin’s unwelcome intrusion. Up. Down. Up. Down. For two hours he had worked out his frustration and anger on the punching bag, the treadmill and now the weights. Sweat ran from his bare chest and arms, riding the ropes of his muscles in clear rivulets. He should be as exhausted mentally as he was physically, but his emotions were only growing darker, more powerful.

“You should not be here,” he said.

Torin sighed. “Look. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but something’s happened.”

“So take care of it.”

“I can’t.”

“Whatever it is, try. I’m in no shape to help.” These last few weeks very little was needed to send him into a killing haze where no one around him was safe. Even his friends.
Especially
his friends. He didn’t want to, never meant to, but was sometimes helpless against urges to strike and to maim.

“Maddox—”

“I’m at the edge, Torin,” he croaked. “I would do more harm than good.”

Maddox knew his limitations, had known them for thousands of years. Ever since that doomed day the gods had chosen a woman to perform a task that should have been his.

Pandora had been strong, yes, the strongest female soldier of their time. But he had been stronger. More capable. Yet he had been deemed too weak to guard
dimOuniak,
a sacred box housing demons so vile, so destructive, they could not even be trusted in Hell.

As if Maddox would have allowed it to be destroyed. Frustration had bloomed inside him at the affront. Inside all of them, every warrior now living here. They had fought diligently for the king of the gods, killed expertly and protected thoroughly; they should have been chosen as guards. That they hadn’t was an embarrassment not to be tolerated.

They’d only thought to teach the gods a lesson the night they’d stolen
dimOuniak
from Pandora and released that horde of demons upon the unsuspecting world. How foolish they had been. Their plan to prove their power had failed, for the box had gone missing in the fray, leaving the warriors unable to recapture a single evil spirit.

Destruction and havoc had soon reigned, plunging the world into darkness until the king of the gods finally intervened, cursing each warrior to house a demon inside
himself.

A fitting punishment. The warriors had unleashed the evil to avenge their stinging pride; now they would contain it.

And so the Lords of the Underworld were born.

Maddox had been given Violence, the demon who was now as much a part of him as his lungs or his heart. Now, man could no longer live without demon and demon could no longer function without man. They were woven together, two halves of a whole.

From the very first, the creature inside him had beckoned him to do malicious things, hated things, and he’d been compelled to obey. Even when led to slay a woman—to slay Pandora. His fingers clenched the bar so tightly his knuckles nearly snapped out of place. Over the years he had learned to control some of the demon’s more vile compulsions, but it was a constant struggle and he knew he could shatter at any moment.

What he would have given for a single day of calm. No overpowering desire to hurt others. No battles within himself. No worries. No death. Just…peace.

“It’s not safe for you here,” he told his friend, who still stood in the doorway. “You need to leave.” He set the silver bar atop its perch and sat up. “Only Lucien and Reyes are allowed to be close to me during my demise.” And only because they played a part in it, unwilling though they were. They were as helpless against their demons as Maddox was his.

“About an hour until that happens, so…” Torin threw a rag at him. “I’ll take my chances.”

Maddox reached behind his back, caught the white cloth and turned. He wiped his face. “Water.”

An ice-cold bottle was soaring through the air before the second syllable left his mouth. He caught it deftly, moisture splashing his chest. He drained the icy contents and studied his friend.

As usual, Torin wore all black and gloves covered his hands. Pale hair fell in waves to his shoulders, framing a face mortal females considered a sensual feast. They didn’t know the man was actually a devil in angel’s skin. They should have, though. He practically glowed with irreverence, and there was an unholy gleam in his green eyes that proclaimed he would laugh in your face while cutting out your heart. Or laugh in your face while you cut out
his
heart.

To survive, he had to find humor where he could. They all did.

Like every resident of this Budapest fortress, Torin was damned. He might not die every night like Maddox, but he could never touch a living thing, skin to skin, without infecting it with sickness.

Torin was possessed by the spirit of Disease.

He hadn’t known a woman’s touch in over four hundred years. He’d learned his lesson well when he’d given in to lust and caressed a would-be lover’s face, bringing about a plague that decimated village after village. Human after human.

“Five minutes of your time,” Torin said, his determination clear. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Think we’ll be punished for insulting the gods today?” Maddox replied, ignoring the request. If he didn’t allow himself to be asked for a favor, he didn’t have to feel guilty for turning it down.

His friend uttered another of those sighs. “Our every breath is supposed to be a punishment.”

True. Maddox’s lips curled into a slow, razored smile as he peered ceilingward.
Bastards. Punish me further, I dare you.
Maybe then, finally, he would fade to nothingness.

He doubted the gods would concern themselves, though. After bestowing the death-curse upon him, they had ignored him, pretending not to hear his pleas for forgiveness and absolution. Pretending not to hear his promises and desperate bargaining.

What more could they do to him, anyway?

Nothing could be worse than dying over and over again. Or being stripped of anything good and right…or hosting the spirit of Violence inside his mind and body.

Jackknifing to his feet, Maddox tossed the now-wet rag and empty water bottle into the nearest hamper. He strode to the far end of the room and braced his hands above his head, leaning into the semicircular alcove of stained-glass windows and staring into the night through the only clear partition.

He saw Paradise.

He saw hell.

He saw freedom, prison, everything and nothing.

He saw…home.

Situated atop a towering hill as the fortress was, he had a direct view of the city. Lights glowed brightly, pinks, blues and purples illuminating the murky velvet sky, glinting off the Danube River and framing the snowcapped trees that dominated the area. Wind blustered, snowflakes dancing and twirling through the air.

Here, he and the others had a modicum of privacy from the rest of the world. Here, they were allowed to come and go without having to face a barrage of questions.
Why don’t you age? Why do screams echo through the forest every night? Why do you sometimes look like a monster?

Here, the locals maintained their distance, awed, respectful. “Angels,” he’d even heard whispered during a rare encounter with a mortal.

If they only knew.

Maddox’s nails elongated slightly, digging into the stone. Budapest was a place of majestic beauty, old-world charm and modern pleasures, but he’d always felt removed from it. From the castle district that lined one street to the nightclubs that lined the next. From the fruits and vegetables hawked in one alley to the living flesh hawked in the other.

Maybe that sense of disconnection would vanish if he ever explored the city, but unlike the others who roamed at will, he was trapped inside the fortress and surrounding land as surely as Violence had been trapped inside Pandora’s box thousands of years ago.

His nails lengthened farther, almost claws now. Thinking of the box always blackened his mood.
Punch a wall,
Violence beckoned.
Destroy something. Hurt, kill.
He would have liked to obliterate the gods. One by one. Decapitate them, perhaps. Rip out their blackened, decayed hearts, definitely.

The demon purred in approval.

Of course it’s purring now,
Maddox thought with disgust. Anything bloodthirsty, no matter the victims, met with the creature’s support. Scowling, he leveled another heated glance at the heavens. He and the demon had been paired long ago, but he remembered the day clearly. The screams of the innocent in his ears, humans bleeding all around him, hurting, dying, the spirits having devoured their flesh in a rapturous frenzy.

Only when Violence had been shoved inside his body did he lose touch with reality. There had been no sounds, no sights. Just an all-consuming darkness. He hadn’t regained his senses until Pandora’s blood splattered his chest, her last breath echoing in his ears.

She had not been his first kill—or his last—but she had been the first and only woman to meet his sword. The horror of seeing that once-vibrant female form broken and knowing he was responsible for it… To this day, he had not assuaged the guilt, the regret. The shame and the sorrow.

He’d sworn to do whatever was necessary to control the spirit from then on, but it had been too late. Enraged all the more, Zeus had bestowed a second curse upon him: every night at midnight he would die exactly as Pandora had died—a blade through the stomach, six hellish times. The only difference was, her torment had ended within minutes.

His
torment would last for eternity.

He popped his jaw, trying to relax against a new onslaught of aggression. It wasn’t as if he were the only one to suffer, he reminded himself. The other warriors had their own demons—literally and figuratively. Torin, of course, was keeper of Disease. Lucien was keeper of Death. Reyes, of Pain. Aeron, of Wrath. Paris, of Promiscuity.

Why couldn’t
he
have been given that last one? He would have been able to journey to town anytime he wished, take any woman he desired, savoring every sound, every touch.

As it was, he could never venture far. Nor could he trust himself around females for long periods of time. If the demon overtook him or if he could not return home before midnight and someone found his dead, bloody body and buried him—or worse, burned him…

How he wished such a thing would end his miserable existence. He would have left long ago and allowed himself to be roasted in a pit. Or perhaps he would have jumped from the fortress’s highest window and smashed his brains from his skull. But no. No matter what he did, he’d merely awaken once again, charred as well as sore. Broken as well as sliced.

“You’ve been staring at that window for a while,” Torin said. “Aren’t you even curious as to what’s happened?”

Maddox blinked as he was dragged from his thoughts. “You’re still here?”