Wicked Nights

Another scream left her, a black mist fogging her line of vision. Not because of her thigh—though yeah, that was beyond awful—but because of her chest. Whenever she received an injury somewhere else, razors seemed to scrape at the burn there, as if Zacharel had just poured his water down her throat.



“Well?” the demon asked.



“Endured…worse.”



“If only I was not forbidden to taste you.” He closed the distance between them and crouched in front of her, his vile scent overwhelming her senses. “My master has Zacharel’s other female, did you know that?” He opened his palm, revealing a curling lock of dark hair. “The pretty angel.”



“He has what remains of her body, you mean.”



“No. She lives.”



“You lie.”



“Do I? Can you really take that chance?”



No. No, she couldn’t. A conscious effort was needed to keep the urgency out of her tone, to hold herself still. “Just who is your master, huh, that he can do what even Zacharel could not, and bring someone back from the dead?”



“I am not to tell you. I am to introduce you to him. And if you ask him nicely, I bet he’ll let the female go. Or not. Mostly not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try.”



His master had to be the high lord who had stabbed her parents, the demon who had marked her, tainted her…ruined her. How she’d dreamed of facing him.



So yes, she was tempted to give in and go. But would she allow this creature to leave this cloud alive? No. Never. She might not have her blades, and the pitchfork might be a no go, but she had her fists and she knew how to use them.



The demon’s rusty gaze flicked to the nightstand. “We will be bringing Zacharel’s brother with us, of course.” He clapped, happy with the way things had turned out. “I’m not sure which will hurt him most. The death of his woman or the loss of all that remains of his cherished sibling.” He straightened, reached toward the urn. “Let’s find out.”



Though she felt as if she were ready to burst apart at the seams, Annabelle struck.



CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



ZACHAREL AND THANE HOVERED over the Deity’s temple, watching as hundreds of winged demon minions raced through the night-darkening sky, slowing only when they reached the rivers winding around the structure. Those rivers flowed to the edges of the cloud, cascading over the sides in breathtaking, star-framed waterfalls.



Most of the demons successfully fought the currents and managed to crawl through the gardens to the alabaster steps, past the ivy-rich columns to the towering double doors leading inside. But the doors they couldn’t breach, no matter how much force they used as they slashed, banged and kicked.



For a moment, Zacharel was taken back to the night he’d met Annabelle. The demons had mindlessly attacked then, too, all in an effort to reach her. But she was not inside, so…what could they possibly want this time?



“They’ve never attacked our Deity like this,” Zacharel said. His wings were heavier than usual, the snow continuing to fall. “Why now? For what purpose?”



“I can only assume they are following orders,” Thane said.



“Yes, but whose?”



“Not Burden’s, that much we know. He’s out of commission.”



“The one pulling his strings maybe?”



“Maybe.”



“Who else would sacrifice an entire horde on a suicide mission? And again, for what purpose?”



“Only one way to find out.”



Yes. Interrogation.



“I don’t like this.” He traced his tongue over his teeth, observed his own cloud—a horrifying black stain in that expanse of deep blue—for a long, silent moment.



Even though Annabelle was inside, the demons did not attempt to infiltrate the cloud. Oh, they would cast longing glances its way, even move toward it, but all would catch themselves and return to the desecration of the temple.



Thane sighed. “Let’s say the minions are here simply to distract us. Let’s say another horde is somewhere else, waiting until we are engaged in battle to act. We still cannot walk away from this. We have the Deity’s orders and we must abide by them.”



Zacharel worried two fingers against his jaw. “You’re right. We do. But that doesn’t mean the whole of my army is needed for this.”



He pictured half of his troops and projected his voice into their minds. Patrol the heavens nearby, looking for anything suspicious, any type of demonic disturbance. If they were surprised by the new method of communication, they hid it well. This was easier, quicker, and he only wished he’d done it before now.



He received one Yes, sir! after another.



On my signal, he projected to the other half, we attack.



To Thane, he added, “You, Xerxes and Bjorn will escort three demons to Koldo. Alive.” Koldo wasn’t well enough to fight, but he was out of his sick bed. “Find out what you can from them. I’ll join you when the temple has been fully cleansed.”



Thane slapped him on the shoulder. This was the first time they’d touched outside of training. “Consider it done.” With that, the angel left Zacharel to gather his friends.



He shot another glance at his cloud—he just couldn’t help himself. Still no demons attempted to enter. What was Annabelle doing? Fuming over his desertion of her? Worrying after his health?



You are a warrior. Act like one. He blanked his mind, raised his hand and created his sword of fire. In a blink, his soldiers had their swords raised, as well. No one broke rank, acting before the signal was given. That was new, too.



Zacharel’s war cry blasted through the heavens. “Now!”



The angels swooped down, Zacharel included. The demons froze in place, most quaking, but none leaving. He hacked his way through them, black blood spraying over the pure alabaster and mother-of-pearl facade of the temple, heads rolling down, down, his opponents dying with…smiles, he realized, as if they knew a secret he did not.



Again he looked to his cloud, but still the demons stayed away from it. Perhaps he should check on Annabelle. She—



A heavy weight slammed into him, flipping him end over end. He lost his hold on the sword, and it vanished. He crashed into the bottom step, air shoving from his lungs. No, not shoving. Seeping out. The organs had been punctured—because a pair of horns had embedded in his chest. A paralyzing poison was sprayed directly into his body.



Distraction killed. He knew that. Oh, but he knew that, and now he would pay. His muscles spasmed as he commanded his arms to punch and his legs to kick, but the limbs did not obey. The demon jerked free, laughed gleefully and shouted for his friends. Soon, minions swarmed Zacharel, biting at him, clawing at him, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.



Are you still at the temple? he projected to Thane.



Nearby. A rasping reply, indicating the swiftness of the warrior’s motions as he spoke.



I’m at the bottom of the steps. Help…me. He’d never had to request aid before, and that he had to here and now…it was humiliating.



An eternity seemed to pass before grunts and groans of pain sounded around him. Teeth were ripped out of him, horns were severed, and one by one the demons began to collapse around him.



“Don’t worry. I’ve been where you are.” Thane remained poised beside him, slaying any minion who dared approach. “The toxin should wear off in a few minutes.”



Zacharel could only lie there, feeling as though he’d been thrown into the fires of hell. At least he could still see his cloud…a cloud that now had three spots of color in the center. Dark, blooming…red?



Red. Blood. Annabelle’s blood.



A demon fell from the center, shooting toward the earth like arrows.



The cloud, he mentally shouted at Thane. My cloud. Inside. Annabelle. Help her!



Thane didn’t stick around to ask questions, but darted up. Instantly, the minions who’d been waiting on the sidelines, too afraid to attack with the warrior there, swarmed Zacharel. He nearly bit his tongue in half, so forcefully did he strain. He wasn’t surprised when his shoulder bone popped from its socket. But did he manage to free himself from the taint of the poison? No.



His face was clawed. His chest was slashed. His legs were sliced. The demons were too happy, too distracted to notice when his muscles finally began to twitch back to life. First his fingers wagged, then his toes, then finally, the toxin dissipated completely. He popped his shoulder back into place and surged into motion. Roaring, he created another sword of fire and swung in a circle, cutting through everyone who clustered around him. Heads flew, and bodies collapsed.



He spread his wings and bolted into the air. Almost there… “Annabelle!” When he attempted to enter the cloud, he ricocheted backward, bones vibrating from impact.



Thane flew around from the other side. “There’s some kind of block. I can’t get through without killing your home.”



“I’m sorry,” Zacharel told the cloud as he swung his sword through the blackened ooze. This was not the merciful death he’d imagined, but it was a death nonetheless. He had to reach Annabelle. Instantly a doorway was created, the edges sizzling, the fire growing, spreading. Zacharel leveled out and zipped to his bedroom.



Horror filled him. Blood dripped from the walls, covered the bed and the nightstand, and even formed little pools all over the floor—but there was no body. No urn.



Thane approached his side. “She is stronger than she appears. Whatever happened, she will recover.”



“Yes.” Would she, though? A vicious battle had clearly taken place here. “Annabelle,” he shouted.



No response.



Doing his best not to panic, he searched room after room as the cloud continued to burn from the outside in, soon to vanish forever, but found no sign of her. She had simply disappeared. “She’s not here. How can she not be here?”



“Could she have…fallen?” Sympathy laced Thane’s voice.



No. No! Zacharel arrowed out of the cloud and toward land, Thane right behind him.