Wicked Nights

“I love you, you know,” he told the warrior halfway down the hall. “No matter what, I love you.”



“As I love you.”



When Thane reentered his bedroom, he was surprised to find Cario and Bjorn standing across from each other, silent and glaring daggers.



From one heated scene to another. Well, he’d certainly gotten the distraction he’d craved, hadn’t he. “Something wrong?” Thane asked.



Both tossed him a scowl, but only Cario answered. “No. Nothing. Just enjoying…your friend’s…wit.” Her gaze snagged on Xerxes. She licked her lips, shifted from one foot to the other. “Hello,” she said, voice now a shimmering whisper.



His friend gave no reaction.



The acrid taste of her lie claimed Thane’s attention. She had enjoyed nothing. Grimacing, he strode to the wet bar and filled three glasses with single malt. He downed his and took his friends theirs, knowing they hated the foul flavor of lies as much as he did. They accepted gratefully.



“I cannot be with this creature,” Bjorn said, his disgust clear.



“You were never on the menu,” she replied tartly, gaze still on Xerxes. As tough as she’d looked down at the bar, she now resembled an eager little girl at Christmas, ready to open her presents.



“What a blessed day this has turned out to be, then,” Bjorn said drily.



“I’ve eaten little boys like you for breakfast. Believe me, you do not want to mess with me.”



Bjorn was quick to snap back, “Actually, there’s nothing else I’d rather do than mess with you. And I doubt you’ve eaten them so much as feasted on their rotting carcasses.”



She lost her eagerness. Actually appeared insulted. “I do not feast on the dead.”



“You sure about that?”



Her elbow whipped back, then slammed forward. If Bjorn had not possessed amazing reflexes, she would have broken his nose. As it was, he was able to catch her fist midair, preventing any damage.



“Such a weakling,” Bjorn said with more of that disgust. Disgust now laced with smug superiority.



“Is that so?” She knocked her forehead into his, and this time he couldn’t stop her. A grunt left him as he released her. He swayed on his feet.



Anger rose inside of Thane. “You do not hurt my friends, female. Ever. You told me you would not, and I heard the truth in your claim.”



Her nose went into the air. “I must have lied.”



No. He would have sensed it. But it was apparent she had changed her mind. “You will leave now,” Thane said. As if that had still been in question. She was lucky she was still alive. “I’ll escort you out.”



“Escort me out like so much garbage? I don’t think so.” She spun on her heel and pegged him with the fierceness of her frown. “I’ll show myself out.”



“Feel free.” He moved aside.



She cast Xerxes another glance, as if she expected him to do or say something. The warrior did not. Finally, she stomped past Thane, past Xerxes—careful not to touch him. The door slammed closed behind her.



How many doors would he be forced to replace before this night ended?



He kept his gaze on the monitors, ensuring she did indeed leave the club. A quick call, and he added her name to the list of people never allowed to return.



“Is there anything I can do for you?” he heard Xerxes ask Bjorn.



“No.” The single word sounded as if it had been pushed through a cavern of broken glass.



“My apologies for the poor selection,” Thane said. “If you would like someone else, I can—”



“No!” they said in unison.



Fair enough. “What did she say to you after I left?” he asked.



Bjorn massaged the back of his neck. “She’s a mind reader.”



Xerxes’ eyes widened as he stepped backward, toward the door, as though he meant to hunt her down and slay her for such an ability.



“I know,” Thane said. “I figured that was a price worth paying for an hour of her time. Besides, she would not get much from us. Merely sexual thoughts.”



Rainbow eyes glowing with otherworldly rage, Bjorn snapped, “She mentioned what had happened to us. She knew every detail.”



“Impossible.” Only the three of them knew the worst of the particulars, and there was no way she could have unearthed so much buried so deeply even with weeks of constant contact.



“Nevertheless. She did.”



Should have killed her. Thane picked up his phone a second time and told the vampire at the other end, “I have changed my mind. If the woman named Cario ever returns, don’t turn her away. Detain her.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle and struggled for calm. “What shall we do for the rest of the night?” They hadn’t spent a night without at least one of them being with a female in years, but now more than ever, he was desperate for a distraction.



“I want to discuss ways to rescue Jamila’s body so we can give her a proper goodbye,” Xerxes said.



Shoulder’s slumped, Bjorn muttered, “If there’s anything left of her.”



“We won’t know until we find her,” Thane said. “We must search every demon hideout possible.”



“But we’ll be putting our own lives at risk for a dead woman,” Bjorn was quick to add. Searching a hideout was how they’d been captured all those years ago.



“Some lives. In all the ways that count, we’re already dead,” Xerxes replied softly.



CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



ANNABELLE PACED THE LENGTH of the newest hotel room while Zacharel reclined lazily on the bed. After she’d apologized (and meant it), he’d flown them all over the globe. Days had passed, almost every moment spent in flight as he ensured no demons followed them, and he deserved a rest. But to remain unaffected while she freaked out? So not cool.



“We’re in Denver,” she said. “Minutes away from my brother’s house.” They’d gone there first, but no one had been home. A blessing or a curse, she wasn’t sure.



“Yes.”



Of course that’s all he had to say, the jerk. Why wasn’t he telling her this would be okay, that her brother would welcome her with open arms and she would leave happier than when she’d arrived?



“I’m going to see him, talk to him.” And question him about the days before her parents’ murder. Cold fingers of dread crawled the length of her spine. Could she do it? Did she have the courage? She could face demons, no problem. But her brother?



The last few sentences in his final letter played through her mind.



I never want to speak to you again. You took away the only people I loved, and I will never forgive you for that. For all I care, you can rot in hell.



“He won’t help us,” she added, her tone hollowed out.



“He will. Now I will hear you say so.”



I will not sigh. “Is this the faith thing?”



“Yes.”



“Fine. He will.” She glanced over at her angel and just…stopped moving. He utterly took her breath away. Dark hair disheveled, green eyes alight with need.



Need. He has need. Of…me?



A decadent fire consumed her in seconds, burning her up. She remembered how cool his touch had once been, then how hot, and oh, sweet mercy, she wanted to feel that change again…



“I’m going to keep our bargain,” she blurted out.



His chest stilled, as if she’d taken his breath away, and his hands flattened on the comforter. “I cannot stop you.”



Wait. “You want to stop me?” she practically shouted.



“No. But I think you are currently overdressed.”



A laugh bubbled up. Sneaky, teasing angel. “Well, then, let me see what I can do about that.” Trembling, she reached down, fisted the lapels of the hotel robe she’d donned after taking a shower and slipped the material from her shoulders. Hair cascaded into place, tickling her bare skin, and his body went taut.



“The rest, sweetheart.” A hum of arousal rose from him, luring her, always luring her. “Remove the rest.”



He wanted her naked, she realized. Vulnerable. His to do with as he pleased. Just then, she was utterly okay with that.



She hooked her fingers into the edges of her panties she’d bought in the gift shop, hesitated only a moment then pushed the tiny scrap down her legs. A conscious effort was required to straighten and hold her arms at her sides rather than hiding her curves. She was okay, but she was also nervous about his reaction.



“You are so beautiful, Annabelle. A work of art.” Slowly Zacharel rose to his haunches, wings stretching out behind him. He removed his robe and crawled to the edge of the bed.



Oh, baby. He was the work of art. Every inch of his body was cut by hard muscle and potent sinew. Skin stroked by the sun glowed with crushed diamond luminosity. But…the smudge of black on his chest, just above his heart, had spread, little rivers winding out of it in several different directions.



It wasn’t a tattoo, couldn’t be.



“Zacharel,” she said, concern for him overshadowing her desire.



“You and you alone have nothing to fear from me.”



He’d misunderstood her concern. “Zacharel…”



“Come here, sweetheart. Please.”



Sweetheart. How could she resist such an endearment? And the please? Yeah. Utterly helpless. They could discuss the smudge later.



Much later.



A step closer to him… Another… She paused. “I know this will be your first time. I don’t want you to worry if—”



“We will not have sex,” he said, the force of his determination a hard brush against her skin. “Not today.”



“But…why?” And was that whiny tone hers?



“When we are finally together, you will not fear me in any way.”



“But I’m not… I wasn’t—”



He waved his hand through the air even then crackling with tension. “I have considered this a lot. I have never done anything with a woman, but now I will do everything with you. And in the doing, we will build up to the sex.”