Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) (21 page)

She burst into the daylight, tripped over a large rock. A mewl of pain escaped her, but she righted herself and kept going. He caught the scent of her blood and knew she’d skinned her knees.

Squawking birds took flight as she ran, and forest animals skittered away. She splashed through a puddle, then tripped again, over a tree root this time. Her palms took the brunt of the fall, abrading her flesh, and her ankle twisted, but not even that slowed her. Branches slapped at her, cutting her cheeks. Leaves stuck in her hair.

Soon she would tire. He would let her race wherever she desired until then. When she had nothing left, he would swoop in. She would have to pay attention to him as he did everything in his power to convince her of his remorse, to reassure her that nothing like this would ever happen again.

Though he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done wrong. She had enjoyed his kisses and his touch. Yes?

“Just like them,” she sobbed, rubbing, rubbing, still rubbing at her chest. “Why’d he have to be just like them? I told him to slow down, but he wouldn’t and now I… Now I…”

With her words, understanding dawned. After everything she had endured in the institution, he had pushed her for too much, too fast. He had destroyed her clothing, as the ones who had forced her had probably done. He had not heeded her protests, but had tried to take what he desired.

She was right—he was just like them.
Was
there a way to fix this? A way to convince her that he wasn’t the monster she now considered him? In the past, when someone wronged him to such a degree, Zacharel had never been the type to forgive and forget.

She is not like you. She is softer, better
.

And wasn’t that ironic? He was the angel, she the human, and yet he was the one in need of pardon.

A cackle of evil laughter sounded up ahead, snaring his interest. Dread and anger consumed him in a single heartbeat. Zacharel quickened his speed, moving in front of Annabelle. She had been found. But where were—then he spotted them. A horde of demons waited up ahead in trees, behind trunks and atop boulders, laughing gleefully and clearly intending to ambush her.

That quickly, they’d found her, and Zacharel would have to deal with them—but now Annabelle wouldn’t trust him any more than she would trust the demons. She might even fight him as he fought them.

If he got her out of this alive, it would be a miracle.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“W
HAT
HAPPENED
TO
YOU
?”
Thane had only just flown himself into Koldo’s underground home in Half Moon Bay when he spied the warrior laid out on the bed, his head shaved and his back slashed to ribbons.

Eyelashes crusted together with specks of blood broke apart, and dark, glassy eyes struggled to focus on him. “Water of Life” was the grumbled response.

Should have guessed.
Only once had Thane beseeched the Heavenly High Council for permission to approach the river. They had demanded he first live as a mortal, among the humans, for a month. He hadn’t needed to consider his answer. He had refused, and so his request had been denied. To be mortal was to be helpless, and nothing was worth that.

He crossed his arms over his chest, saying, “They took your hair.” An obvious statement, but his shock was unparalleled.

“Yes.”

“And you let them.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Koldo closed his eyes. “Why are you here, warrior?”

Thane wasn’t surprised by the evasion. Koldo wasn’t one to share his problems. None of them were. But he was surprised by the ease with which Koldo was speaking to him. Normally he couldn’t get more than a brusque “yes” or “no” from the angel. “Zacharel commanded me to come.”

“You just missed him. He was here with the girl.”

Another surprising fact. Zacharel was
willingly
carting a human female around the world. Thane could only wonder what would happen next. “They were well?”

“Yes,” Koldo said again, though this time he hesitated over the word. “He wanted her with him, within his sight. He did not like the fact that I had touched her, even innocently.”

Such a long string of words. The pain must have abolished his inhibitions.

But that couldn’t overshadow what he’d said. Zacharel was possessive and jealous, when he’d never displayed the slightest emotion before.

What other human emotions would their leader unleash? Especially when he lost the girl. And he would lose her. Mortals were delicate, easily crushed; angels were not.

“Where are your boys?” Koldo asked. “They’re usually not far behind you.”

“Bjorn is hunting Jamila. She left Zacharel’s cloud a few nights ago and hasn’t been seen since. Xerxes is examining the remains of a demon horde found under that very cloud.”

“And you are hunting Zacharel to heed his command.”

“Not exactly.” He had spoken inside Zacharel’s mind, as Zacharel had spoken inside his. He could do so again, could ask where Zacharel was and if he was okay or needed help, but he wouldn’t. That kind of connection to anyone but Bjorn and Xerxes disturbed him as he suspected it disturbed Zacharel. “Did he say where he was going? Or what his plans were?”

“If he did, I was too busy being unconscious to notice.”

Thane couldn’t help himself; he grinned. Humor, from the ever-serious Koldo was as baffling as Zacharel’s new obsession with the girl. And it moved Thane to do something he knew he shouldn’t.

He strode to the kitchen and placed on the counter all the items necessary for making a sandwich. He should be tracking another demon to torture. Unfortunately, the one he’d captured had not given any details, no matter what he’d done, had just stoically borne the pain. He should be alerting the other members of the army to these new developments. But he wanted to ease Koldo somehow, someway.

“You can’t feed me,” Koldo said from the bed.

No, he couldn’t, as much as he wished otherwise. Anyone who did would be forced to bear the very pain they’d hoped to assuage—for the rest of eternity. “I’m hungry and in need of a snack. If you want what I leave behind, that’s up to you.” As he was learning, there was always a way around a rule.

Thane bit into the turkey-and-cheese as he strode back to the bed. He took another bite, and then another, before placing what was left of the sandwich on the nightstand. Then he returned to the kitchen and filled a glass with orange juice. He drained half the contents before the glass, too, found a new home on the nightstand.

Koldo studied the food for a long, silent moment before shifting his gaze to Thane. “I will tell you why I wanted the Water if you swear never to breathe a word of what you hear.”

Vows were sacred among their kind. Thane often felt as if he were a man lacking any sort of honor, that there was nothing he wouldn’t do, no line he wouldn’t cross, but that wasn’t exactly true. He never broke his vows, and he never would. “I so swear.”

A beat of stilted silence, then, “Zacharel was dying. The girl swore to keep him out of the heavens for one month if I healed him. I knew the Water was the only thing that would save him, and so I procured it for him.”

He absorbed the warrior’s words, trying to reason things out, failing. “Why a month?”

“I needed time to heal. Time to search…to act.”

The potency of the warrior’s relish left no doubt that the “act,” whatever it was, would involve bloodshed. “Tell me.”

“Your oath of secrecy extends to this?”

Meaning, he would not mention this discussion even to Bjorn or Xerxes. “It does.”

Koldo gave the slightest of nods. “Everyone thinks a demon removed my wings all those years ago, and I allow them to think this because I do not want to answer any questions about the truth.”

“But the truth is…what?” Thane asked, knowing Koldo would answer
him
. Not because he had given his vow of silence, but because the truth was a poison inside of him, a poison he was desperate to expunge.

“An angel took my wings, and I plan to kill her.”

Thane had questioned why the stoic Koldo, the unflappable, unbendable warrior anyone and everyone could rely on, had been assigned to this last-chance army. He’d heard rumors about a supposed beating Koldo had rendered, but he’d never seen the male worked into any kind of temper. Now he fit a few puzzle pieces together. Whether the beating had happened or not, Koldo was a part of Zacharel’s army because of the vengeful purpose in his heart.

“If Zacharel so much as suspected, he would try and stop you.”

“Yes.”

“And you do not think I will try and stop you?”

There was no hesitation when Koldo replied with, “No, I do not. You know the value of retaliation.”

Actually, he knew the hopelessness. After his rescue from the dungeon, after his body had healed, Thane, Bjorn and Xerxes had returned. Three days and three nights were spent locked in a vicious battle for rights to that dungeon. Oh, they could have killed the demons inside, torched the place and ended things in an hour, but they hadn’t wanted that. Hadn’t wanted their captors to die quickly or easily.

And so they hadn’t. The three of them had taken the dungeon, leaving everyone inside alive. The pain-filled screams still sometimes echoed inside Thane’s mind. But he did not feel any better about the past…and he knew his boys did not feel better about themselves.

“You will do what you feel you must,” he finally said. “I will not tell Zacharel.” He paused, head tilting to the side. “Who is she, this woman who betrayed you?”

“That, I will not tell you.”

“Because you think I would shield her. Interesting. I must know her. No matter, though. Here’s something I’m sure you will learn about me. I love two men, and no others.” There wasn’t room in the small chambers of his heart for anyone else. “Your female is nothing to me.”

Silence.

He sighed. “You will let me know if there is anything I can do to aid you in your quest.” A demand.

“There is nothing. I must do this alone. She hides from me, and I will allow no one else to drag her from the shadows. I will be the one to unearth her.”

Understood. “Very well. I will leave you to—” He trailed off as a sense of foreboding suddenly struck him, followed by a flash of images through his mind. He and Zacharel must have maintained a strong mental link, because he could feel his leader’s dread and fury.

Zacharel,
he said, projecting his voice into his leader’s mind. So much for keeping his mental distance.

Nothing, no response.

Zacharel, what’s going on?

Again no response.

Was Zacharel ignoring him? Or too injured to respond?

“I must go,” he told Koldo. He would have to track the angel the old-fashioned way.

“There is trouble?”

“Worry not, for this is not something that concerns you,” he evaded. He would not have the man worrying when there was nothing he could do. “I will return when I’m able.”

* * *

A
NNABELLE
STOOD
IN
THE
center of the slaughter, winded yet buzzing with adrenaline. Black blood formed multiple rivers around her. She rubbed at her chest, hoping to finally ease the burn that had begun to blaze inside the cavern, when Zacharel had… When he’d… Even now the burn increased, and she rubbed harder.

Don’t think about it.
Right now, demonic bodies were piled around her, the scent of rotten eggs thick in the air, pungent enough to make her gag. Yeah. She’d think about
that.
It was far more pleasant.

Zacharel had produced his sword of fire and gone to town on each of the monsters, allowing none to escape. To her surprise, he’d also placed two blades in her hands when she’d dropped her own, her last, enabling her to continue fighting.

And fight she had, the sharp metal tips slicking through jugulars, midsections and even the backs of knees, hobbling her prey for easier elimination. What she’d lacked in skill she’d made up for in creativity and determination.

“Are you injured?” Zacharel demanded, stomping across the motionless, headless bodies to reach her.

Before he could think to take back his blades, she shoved them through the slits in her pockets and into the sheaths strapped to her thighs. “I’m fine.” Yes, she was cut up and bleeding, and yes, one of her ankles was twisted and throbbing, but she would hurt like this forever if it meant defeating her enemy. “You?”

He looked her over, judging the truth of her words for himself. At the same time, she looked
him
over. He was just as blood soaked as she was, with sweat trickling down his temples, his robe soaked to his skin.

“I’m well enough. Come, we must clean you up.” He offered his hand to her.

To his credit, he didn’t force her to link her fingers with his but waited for her to initiate contact on her own. She licked her lips, wishing there were some other way to leave this place. But he’d just uttered the only words that could have made a difference. Clean up. The blackened blood singed her skin, and already she had welts.

Expression blank, he said, “I am sorry for what I did to you, Annabelle, I truly am. I did not mean to… I was caught up… I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Such sincerity from him should have surprised her, but it didn’t. “I know you are,” she said. And she really did, now that her mind was freed from the bondage of fear. That had been his first kiss, and he’d been caught up in the sensations, just as she had been…until he’d ripped her top and bared her breasts, and memories of Fitzpervert and his camera of shame had flooded her. “But just so you know, I won’t be wanting to kiss you again.”

That part of their relationship was over. Zacharel hadn’t meant to hurt her, but hurt her he had. He’d abused the very fragile trust she’d built with him. He hadn’t stopped when she had wanted him to stop, and she couldn’t risk something like that happening again.