Wicked Nights

“Two shockers in one day,” Thane said. “First, concern for my commander. Second, watching a tiny fluff of nothing act as his protector. Are you ashamed, Zacharel?”



Zacharel tossed her a this is your fault glare.



She shrugged, not sorry in the least.



“Well, now that we know Zacharel is so well guarded,” the rainbow-eyed warrior said in a sneering tone, “we have business to attend to.” Any lingering amusement vanished. “We thought you’d like to know that the demons that attacked your cloud were sent by Burden and we now have his location.”



Zacharel reached back and clasped Annabelle’s hand, as if he needed to assure himself she was there and she was well.



The one with red eyes perused Annabelle up and down before dismissing her. “He’s at the Black Veil. We tracked him down, but did not have an opportunity to fight him. He let us know that he has Jamila, then he demanded ‘the weak and vulnerable Annabelle’ in trade—and don’t try to gainsay me, female,” he added without looking her way. “You are.”



“Am not,” she grumbled. She so was, when compared to these creatures.



To Zacharel, he continued with a clenched jaw, “He also said that if you go with an angel escort, he will behead Jamila. If you refuse to go, he will behead Jamila.”



Annabelle translated: in essence, Zacharel was screwed.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



THE BLACK VEIL WAS A HUMAN nightclub located in the pulsing heart of Savannah, Georgia. Zacharel had hunted many demons along these sultry midnight streets, and wasn’t surprised Burden had made a home there, or that he’d possessed the body of the human who owned the club, just to feed off the turmoil of the patrons.



Intensely hot this time of year, Savannah’s humidity was so thick it left a film on one’s skin—even angel skin. Had it not been for Annabelle, Zacharel would have asked the Deity for the return of the snow.



He was not in his customary robe, but wore a black mesh tank, black leather pants and scuffed combat boots. To add to the look, he’d spiked his hair down the center—a Mohawk, the humans called the style—and rimmed his eyelids with kohl. Tattoos now sleeved both of his arms, and once again his wings were hidden from human eyes. All necessary changes.



To garner the aid of the only men who could slip inside such a club and act as his backup without Burden’s knowledge, he’d had to vow to dress like this and let the whole world see him. It was utterly ridiculous. If there’d been any other way, he would have hurt the men—the children!—in ways they could not imagine for even daring to suggest such a thing.



Annabelle alternately marveled at the change in him and at the luminosity of the full moon. Other humans gave him a wide berth, nearly flattening themselves against building walls to widen the distance between them.



Annabelle danced around him, grinning. “Can I just say what a bad boy you are right now?”



“Of course you can. You just did.”



“No, I mean— Oh, never mind, you spoiled it.” Her lips dipped into a pout.



A pout he wanted to kiss away. He might look all “bad boy,” but she looked…edible. Her hair curled down her back in wanton blue-black ringlets. He’d dressed her in a tight black-and-white-checkered gown with bows at the top and ruffles at the bottom, so that no one would question their association. The hem fell just below her knees, showcasing smooth, bare legs and strappy red heels. She looked like a Goth seventies housewife, ready to await her husband with a spiked drink.



Besides, the more innocent she appeared, the more Burden would underestimate her. And yes, that meant Zacharel was operating under the assumption that Burden and Annabelle would fight, despite the fact that Zacharel would have given up all of his limbs to prevent the two from breathing the same air.



Above all, he wanted her safe. Was desperate to keep her safe.



For a man who’d felt nothing for centuries, Zacharel suddenly felt as if he was drowning in emotion, and not just the desperation. He felt worry for Annabelle’s safety. He felt an intense desire to at last experience everything she had to give before it was too late. He felt concern for Jamila’s safety. Felt guilt over the way he’d treated her. And as irrational as it was, he felt anger that she had allowed herself to be captured.



She had been under Burden’s control for days. A lot could be done to an angel, a female, in that amount of time.



Earlier, he’d attempted to project his voice into her mind, but she’d never responded. His Deity, however, had.



I am displeased. She is your charge, your responsibility. You will handle this.



He would. But…he should have left Annabelle behind, he thought. He still could. It wasn’t too late.



But if he did, she would hate him. Hadn’t she told him she would rather die than be locked away? And to leave her behind, he would have to lock her away. He couldn’t do that to her. Not even he was that cold.



Besides, what if that was what Burden wanted? To have Annabelle left alone, unprotected, so that he could snag her? But no, that couldn’t be right. The high lord couldn’t know what the human had come to mean to him. He would assume the coming interaction was business as usual, that Zacharel would care more for his angel than the human. Therefore, if Zacharel arrived without her, he would be proclaiming to one and all that she meant more to him than his duty, his vengeance and his army. She would become more of a target than she already was. Then again, they would find out anyway.



The fact that Annabelle was currently covered in Zacharel’s essentia would proclaim to one and all that he had been with her. But only that, he thought next. Not what she meant to him.



Very well, then. He was decided. She would stay with him.



“You remember everything I told you?” he asked. “How to behave?”



“After the way you drilled everything into my head? Stay beside you, don’t talk, don’t lose focus, don’t, don’t, don’t. No, I’ve forgotten,” she said flippantly. “What I don’t know is the plan.”



She trusted him to rescue Jamila without trading her, and that would have to be enough. He could not risk telling her the rest. “Do you have any questions for me? Other than ones about the plan?”



“Well, yeah. Now that you know where this Burden guy is, why can’t you just swoop in and fight him, while your secret friends—and I’m still waiting for you to tell me about them—then save Jamila?”



The warriors he’d enlisted were part of ‘the rest.’ He might not tell her about them even when the battle was over and the smoke cleared. “Burden, coward that he is, has possessed the body of a human. I am limited in the things I can do to him.”



“What if he attacks you?”



“I still will not harm him.” Much.



“But that’s not fair!”



“A similarity between our worlds. Nothing ever seems to be.” But all things, no matter how terrible, could be worked to his good, Zacharel was coming to learn. “Though we will not be able to destroy the human, he will not walk away unscathed. Dancing with a demon brings only suffering—that is a spiritual law, and he will learn the truth of that tonight.”



“Fine. But we’re sure this Burden guy isn’t the one who killed my parents, even though he’s the one who ordered the other demons to hurt me?”



“Yes. There are ranks among the demons, and Burden is not of high enough rank to manifest in the presence of humans.”



“Okay, so answer me this. How did Burden possess the human?”



“The human welcomed him inside, giving him entrance one way or another.”



“Like…a dream?”



“Sometimes. Sometimes a demon will watch a human, waiting for the perfect time to strike. If one does not appear, the demon will try to create an opening. He will whisper into the human’s ear. Tell this lie…say that cruel thing…do this hateful thing…do that savage thing. If the human fails to rebuke the demon, the demon’s hold will grow stronger, finally allowing the creature to crawl inside his mind.”



“But how do you rebuke a demon? How are we to know we’re supposed to rebuke a demon?”



“Trust me, there is a way and I will teach you. But not now.” She needed faith she did not yet possess. Faith that would not spring from words alone. She would need time they didn’t have, time to hear a divine lesson with not just her ears but with all of her being. Were he to try and teach her despite that, she would become frightened, and that would make everything worse.



“Why don’t the demons possess your Deity’s angels? You guys seem to have as many faults as we do,” she grumbled.



“They torment us, too. Never doubt that.”



He pressed his shoulder into hers, maneuvering her into a darkened alley. The odor of urine and brine wafted through the air. He could have flown straight to the club’s door, but he wanted Burden to know he was on his way. The demon’s spies would spot him—in fact, he’d seen three minions in the past five minutes, peeking from around the corners of buildings before crawling up the sides and scampering away.



“Well, well, what do we have here?” A human teenager stepped from the shadows. He was in the process of zipping his pants, and Zacharel could guess he’d been using one of the buildings as a toilet. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. “A hot little Chinese babe and a nuisance who better run if he wants to continue breathing.”



“I’m not Chinese,” Annabelle snapped.



“Whatever. You’re hot, and that’s all that matters.” Two other teens stepped from the shadows and lined up beside him.



None were demon possessed, but all three were stupid. Zacharel was double their size, but because they had weapons—two had knives, he discerned, the silver tips gleaming in the moonlight, and one, the leader, had a gun—they considered themselves invincible.



“What’ve you got on under that dress, huh?”



“Be a good girl and give us a peek.”