Wicked Nights

Taste the truth.



Demons were liars and tricksters, but when he smacked his lips, it wasn’t a lie or a trick that he tasted. He savored the sweet taste of truth.



The being in front of him was Annabelle.



How had this happened? And oh, Deity, what had he done? Thrown her. Hit her. Choked her. Zacharel released his grip on the sword, the flames instantly dying away. Shame unfurled inside him, dropping him to his knees.



No wonder he could smell Annabelle on her. She truly was Annabelle. And he had hurt her. Hurt her terribly. He would never be able to forgive himself.



He remained in place as she closed the distance between them. “I am sorry, so sorry, Annabelle.” Would he never take proper care of her? Would he always bring her pain?



Her head tilted to the side, as if she heard him, understood him, but the crimson in her eyes brightened, as if she cared not about his apology. And in the ensuing minutes, she proved that very thing. Her claws slashed at him, her little fists beat at him. She twirled with a skill she had not previously possessed, cutting at him with the tips of her wings.



Not once did he attempt to stop her. He deserved this. He deserved this and so much more, and if she wanted to take his head, he would give her his head. I’m worse than any demon.



Finally, though, she jumped away from him and stopped, just stopped and blinked.



“Annabelle?”



She wavered, closed her eyes. A moment passed before she was able to refocus, but when she did, he realized her irises had returned to that startling shade of ice-blue.



“Annabelle!” He leapt to his feet.



“Zacharel?” At least, he thought she’d said his name. The word was jumbled, nearly inaudible.



“I’m here.” Steps slow and measured, he approached her. He didn’t want to rattle her.



As though a strong wind had just slammed into her, she teetered over, fell.



He whipped into motion, catching her before she hit and easing her down. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know it was you.”



Tears filled her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. “Zacharel,” she repeated in that same broken tone.



“Yes, love. I’m here.”



A gurgle of panic left her. Was she scared of him now?



She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. “Did I…kill you?”



Her poor mind couldn’t distinguish between reality and nightmare. “No, love.” He caressed a fingertip along her bruised jaw. Hadrenial had pleaded for death. Annabelle had pleaded for life. Look what he’d done to them both. Hate myself.



How many hours, days, weeks had he agonized over his decision to do what his brother asked and strike the killing blow? And afterward, when the decision had been made and the action done, how hard had he cried? So hard he’d broken nearly all of his ribs. So hard he’d vomited blood. But even then, he hadn’t wanted to die himself. He’d wanted to live and avenge. Now, he would have welcomed a killing blow.



“You didn’t kill me. I live.”



She coughed, a trickle of blood sliding from the corner of her mouth. When she settled, she whispered, as though ashamed, “Something’s…wrong…me.”



His voice remained low, gentle. “I know, love, but we’ll find a way to fix you.”



“Demon…in cloud…he waited, tried to take brother…I—”



“Shh. Don’t worry about that right now.”



Still she persisted. “Didn’t let… Fought.”



“I know, love, I know, so tell me what happened later, all right? Right now, I want you to drift off to sleep. All right? I will protect you, I swear it.”



“No! Listen!” she said with a sudden burst of strength. “You can’t leave the demon behind….” Her body sagged, the strength gone as quickly as it had arrived. “Have to take him…with you…” Muscles going limp. “His body…please.”



Understanding at last dawned. The slain demon must now carry Hadrenial’s essentia. And she had been carting that heavy weight around, trying to escape, fighting for her life, because she had vowed to protect Zacharel’s greatest treasure.



“I won’t leave him behind, love. Sleep now,” he said again. In sleep, she would not feel the pain. She would heal.



She had better heal.



“Thank you,” she said on a sigh, her head lolling to the side, but her eyes blinked open, as if she didn’t trust him enough to do as he’d asked.



Thank you, she’d said.



Thank. You.



Two words that would forever haunt him. He did not deserve her thanks, and he was certain he would not receive it again when she awoke and came to her senses.



Not knowing what else to do, he pinched her carotid, stopping the flow of oxygen to her brain, forcing her to pass out. A mercy, and yet his shame nearly suffocated him.



So badly he wanted to pour what remained of the Water of Life down her throat. Anything to save her. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what had been done to her, and he was too afraid the liquid would act as poison to her, as it did with other demons.



She’s not a demon! instinct shouted.



He tenderly laid her on the ground, then rushed to strap the dead demon to his back. When he returned to Annabelle, he gathered her close to his chest and stood, careful not to damage her wings further. Her weight barely registered, she was such a slight thing.



Slow and easy, he flew to his former leader’s cloud and demanded entrance. As he waited, Annabelle began to shiver. Her body temperature was too low—because she’d lost too much blood?



The cloud opened to him, and he glided inside. To his despair, Lysander was not the one to greet him. Instead it was Bianka, Lysander’s female, a Harpy with an affinity for trouble and wickedness.



Chewing gum, she looked him and Annabelle over, twirling a strand of her long black hair around her finger. “About time you brought me a cloud-warming gift, but did you have to pick one of the ugliest demons I’ve ever seen?”



“That was so rude, insulting the warrior’s present like that,” another female said. Kaia, Bianka’s twin sister, strode over, a half-empty bottle of Boone’s Farm in her hand. In Burden’s office, what seemed forever ago, she had been dressed for war. Now she was wearing an angel robe and all about relaxation. “Besides, I’ve seen way uglier.”



“Enough,” he growled. Witnessing the twin sisters and their us-against-the-world rapport used to fascinate, reminding him of what he could have had with his brother. Just now, only Annabelle mattered.



The girls looked at each other and giggled, and it was then he knew. They were drunk.



“Why don’t you put it over there,” Bianka said, pointing to someplace behind her, and then beside her and then in front of her, “next to the demon-skin rug I’ll probably give you for Christmas. Or under the table. Or better yet, on the porch where it might be accidentally on purpose kicked to the earth.”



How did his leader stand her? “Where is Lysander?”



She flashed her fangs at him, suddenly irritated. “Someone, and I won’t mention your name, Zach, abandoned his post at the Deity’s temple, which meant my man had to step in and save the day. So I decided to have a girls’ night.”



Another crime Zacharel would be forced to answer for, but that was not a current concern. “My woman needs tending. If you will show me to a bedroom—”



“Told you Big Z had the hots for someone,” Kaia burst out.



“And I told you to stuff it. Guaranteed he misspoke just now.” Bianka anchored her hands on her hips. “Tell my sister you don’t have the hots for a woman. Or a demon. Or anything with a pulse.”



“She is not a demon,” he shouted, the intensity of his anger shaking the cloud.



The black-haired Harpy cringed and clutched her ears. “Uh, do you want to pipe down before I rip out your tongue and slap you with it? Word on the street is, there’s such a thing as an inside voice. I’m skeptical, but do me a favor and give it a try.”



He forced his voice to gentle. “Annabelle is human. My human. She needs help. Now.”



“Let’s back this word train up. A puzzle piece just slid into place inside my magnificent brain. That’s Annabelle?” Kaia stepped forward, clearly intending to brush Annabelle’s hair out of the way and study her face.



He snapped his teeth at her. While he lacked fangs, he did not lack menace. “No touching.”



Kaia acted as if she hadn’t heard him and did exactly as she wanted. Typical of the Harpies. “Okay, wow. It is. What happened to her?”



“I’m not sure.” But I will find out, and I will fix it as promised. “Bedroom. Now. Please,” he added, hoping against hope that would work. With Harpies, you had a fifty-fifty chance of getting what you wanted—or dying.



“You better do it, B,” Kaia said with a sigh. “You know how Lysander gets all wussed-out when you so much as scrape a knee? Well, Zach here is worse with his little princess. Maybe ’cause she’s human and so inferior. Although I think we can scratch the word human from her list of descriptions.”



“She is not inferior,” he roared. “And she is human.”



Bianka studied him for several long, silent minutes. “You’re right, Kye. Zach is worse. So, all right, come on, angel. This way.” She skipped down a hallway.



He trailed after her, leaving a line of snow in his wake.



“Hey, Zach,” Kaia called. There was a pause, the sound of gushing liquid and then a few gulps. She must be drinking straight from the bottle. “You do realize you’ve got a headless demon strapped to your back, right?”



“Of course. I put him there.”



Bianka stopped and waved her hand through the baby-blue mist beside her, a doorway appearing.



Zacharel brushed past her and stepped inside.



A large bed waited in the center, perfect for warrior angels with above-average wingspans, and now perfect for humans with demon wings. He tenderly placed Annabelle on the mattress, smoothed the hair from her face and drew the covers over her body. “We won’t stay long. Demons sense her, wherever she is, and attack.”