Wicked Nights

She lost track of his words, her mind ensnared by the beauty of those wings…so strong, so majestic, so wonderfully gold.



“I have already given you permission to touch my wings, Annabelle.”



Now he sounded irritated. “I know.”



“Then why are your hands fisted at your sides, rather than on me?”



“Because you look so enthused by the idea.”



He opened his mouth, snapped it closed. “Sarcasm?”



“Good call.”



His put-upon sigh echoed between them.



Her fingers uncurled and stroked over the arch of those golden wings. They were as hard as iron and ridged—until you encountered the feathers. Oh, baby, those feathers were softer than goose down. She caressed the tips, marveling when one of the longer ones loosened and fell into her palm.



Zacharel latched on to her wrist, but didn’t toss her hand away or claim the golden feather as his property. All hint of amusement gone, he said, “Look at me, Annabelle.”



A wave of trepidation swept over her as she obeyed. Had she done something wrong?



“You may never do this with another angel. Do you understand?”



Her brow furrowed with her confusion. “Is it against the rules?” But…sex wasn’t. Obviously. So touching shouldn’t have been, either.



“Those who have not experienced sexual desire do not like to be handled in any way, especially by humans. Those who have experienced desire will view your attention as a request for a bedding.”



And thereby ruin whatever good mood she’d managed to attain. “I won’t touch anyone but you, I promise.”



There was a heavy beat of silence. “That man, Dr. Fitzherbert, touched you without permission. In the ways I touched you last night?”



Just like that, a dark, sticky cloud tried to envelop her. Her shoulders curled in as every emotion she’d experienced inside the institution barraged her. Fear, shame, hatred, guilt, helplessness, sorrow, grief. But as quickly as they hit, they vanished. She absolutely refused to dwell on them, and shot each one with a mental bullet, killing it dead. Those things acted like a dinner bell for demons, and she refused to supply a buffet.



“Yes,” she said.



“Perhaps it is time he reaps what he has sown,” Zacharel said.



“Meaning…what?”



“I will force something terrible on him.”



Rather than thrill her, the vow worried her. She wanted Fitzpervert out of a position of authority and unable to hurt anyone else, but she wanted Zacharel safe far more. She’d brought enough trouble to his door already.



“Is that your job?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.



“No.” A grumble.



“Then you’ll get into big-time trouble for doing it. And don’t try to deny it. I distinctly remember you telling me that you weren’t allowed to harm humans.”



“Some actions are worth the trouble they bring.”



Doubtful! “I get doing all the damage you can to demons. They’re pure evil, they’ll never feel remorse for the terrible things they do and they’ll never change, will always try to hurt people. But harming a human isn’t necessary. That would make you no better than, well, Fitzpervert. He hurt me just because he could.” Fire flashed in his eyes, but still she persisted. “One day I’ll do what’s needed to let the world know what a monster Fitzpervert is, I promise. But I’ll do it the right way. So, I want you to tell me you’ll let this go, Zacharel…whatever your last name is. Do you even have a last name?”



“Come,” he said, ignoring her boast, her demand and her question. He released her wrist, only to snake his arm around her waist and draw her closer.



“Zacharel Come. That’s a terrible last name. I feel sorry for your wife, if you ever decide to marry.”



His lips twitched, and she thought, I performed that little miracle. I made him kinda sorta smile.



“We have much to do today, Annabelle.”



“So what? I told you. I’m not leaving until you’ve done a take back.”



He slid his hand up her back to toy with the ends of her hair. Then, “Give me time to think, at least,” he said. “I will not lie to you, which means you must allow me time to consider all my options.”



Sound logic. Also irritating and irrefutable. “Very well.” But she would prevail, and that was that, she thought, tying the end of the feather to the top of her corset. The gold gleamed prettily against the blue of the scrubs.



Zacharel’s eyes flared with a different kind of heat than before.



Anger? “What things do we have to do?” she asked. If he was mad, he was mad. He could deal.



“First, we shop.” His voice practically dripped with ice crystals.



O-kay, he was clearly more than out of sorts with her. What kept causing these split-second changes in him? Annabelle stepped away from him and crossed her arms over her middle. “I have another condition to my departure,” she said, tying the blade sheaths at her ankles. “You have to tell me what’s bothering you.” Commanding a warrior angel, Miller? I’d like to see you follow this one through.



“I don’t have to do your bidding, Annabelle.”



Once before he’d pointed out the differences in their abilities. He ruled by might and the power of the sword. She was a spunky little scrapper who talked a big game. He could force her to leave with him, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.



But last night he’d given her the right to question—and defy—him. “You will,” she said with all the determination she felt.



He flashed his teeth in a scowl and eased onto the edge of the bed. He rested his palms on his thighs. To stop himself from shaking her? “You will not like what I have to say.”



Dread knotted her stomach. “Say it anyway. I’m a big girl. I can take it.” Maybe. No. No, she couldn’t. He looked far too serious.



“You expect leniency from me now, but I cannot give it to you. We must track a demon high lord, and my attention cannot be divided. Yet even now, as I hold myself back from you, all I can think about is how soft you will feel if I embrace you, how much I enjoyed your cries in my ears and how easy it would be to strip and take you here and now.”



Oh…my. “Zacharel, I love hearing that.” Was weak-kneed because of it.



“Truly?” His gaze met hers, and she saw the fire banked there. “Because you will not be dealing with your lover this day, but your leader. When I issue an order, I will expect you to obey it without question.”



“Hello. I will absolutely—” Wait. On the surface, what he asked seemed reasonable. Only when she dug deeper was she able to discern that how they interacted today would determine how they interacted from now on. There would always be another demon to hunt. And, with her…consort out there, she would always be in danger.



Not that they’d always be together.



Anyway. If she acted the obedient little soldier today, Zacharel would always expect her to be an obedient little soldier. Perhaps even in bed. They would never be equals.



“Okay, listen up,” she said. “For four years I was told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, what medications to take, when to leave my room and when to stay in my room. If ever I disobeyed, I was disciplined harshly and then I was forced to do what I’d first been told. I will not have that kind of relationship with you. I would rather have no relationship at all.”



“You see. This is what I suspected would happen.” His knuckles leeched of color, and she suspected he was pressing into his thigh muscles with so much force he would have bruises for days, the swiftness of his healing no match for the extent of the damage. “If one of my men dared defy me, I would—”



“What? Beat him?” she finished for him. “Well, I’m not one of your men.”



“Beat him, yes. I have done that. I have done worse. And you want to be one of my men. You asked me to train you.”



“And so far you haven’t taught me a single thing.”



Silence, heavy and oppressive.



“Very well. Let’s remedy that.” He was on his feet an instant later, his arms snaking around her and lifting her off her own feet. She experienced that strange sense of weightlessness as he whisked her through wall after wall and into the garden outside.



Without any preamble, he dropped her on her butt. Air gusted from her lips, her brain rattling against her skull. People milled along pebbled paths, she noted, but they paid her and Zacharel no attention.



“Having an audience doesn’t change how I’ll treat you,” she grumbled softly. “If anything, you’ve earned yourself a full-on feminine assault.”



“They cannot see or hear us,” he said.



They couldn’t? “Hey, you,” she shouted, looking around. No one so much as twitched. Wow, they really couldn’t.



“By the way, if I wasn’t clear, I think you’re a turd,” she mumbled, jumping to her feet.



“You wanted to train, and so we will train.” As he spoke, his robe was transformed into a pair of loose black pants. No shirt. “But first…”



His sun-kissed skin darkened…darkened…taking on a crimson hue. Horns sprouted from his shoulders, his wings morphed into something hideous, a thin membrane wetted with blood, and a tail grew between his legs, a metal spike at its end.



A scream ripped from Annabelle’s throat. She withdrew the blades from their sheaths, and acting on instinct, lunged toward the creature straight from the depths of her nightmares, slashing at him. Horror, betrayal and shock blasted through her, turning her blood into toxic sludge. This thing was a demon, and he’d tricked her. All this time he’d tricked her, even gotten her into bed.



“You disgust me!” she shouted as she went for his throat.



Easily he latched on to her wrists, spun her and pinned her against the hard length of his body. “Calm down and think, Annabelle.”



Despite his grotesque appearance, his voice was the same, was Zacharel’s, and the knowledge caused some of her panic to flee.