Wicked Nights

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ZACHAREL MADE LOVE to Annabelle all through the night. He could not get enough of her. Would never get enough of her or the pleasure she gave him. He loved her breasts, so perfectly lush and perfectly tipped. He loved her stomach, a soft hollow with a tempting navel. He loved her legs, their smooth expanse of wicked delights.

He loved everything in between.

He loved the sounds she made, the way she moved, the softness and sweetness and the passion he experienced with her. He loved what she did to him, hugging him, kissing him, making him feel as if he were the most precious thing on earth.

But what he loved most was being inside her, one with her. A part of her. Twined around her, their breath mingling. Yes, the physical sensations that came with that part had delighted him, but the mental…the emotional…were even better.

Love. He was the one who had never known its true meaning, he realized. It was not just a pretty word. Genuine love was a gift. Special. Necessary. A lesson his brother had tried to teach him, but one he had ignored. Until now.

Now…as Annabelle glowed with Zacharel’s essentia, a subtle light that seeped from her pores, as if the sun was living just under her skin. He loved that, too.

Mine, he thought. She is mine. I will not share her.

“If you can bear to take a break, you insatiable beast, there’s something I want to do,” she said, climbing from the bed for an endless, abhorrent moment.

She grabbed a pen from the desk before putting him out of his misery and straddling his hips. He propped his back against the pillows as satisfaction of a different sort consumed him. They were together, no matter what their bodies were doing. Something else he loved.

“By the way, this isn’t a hint for more,” she said. “Not this time.”

“Tease.” How she thrilled him, every aspect of her. A fall of blue-black hair around her shoulders, cheeks flushed and dewy. Ice-blue eyes sparkling, lips swollen from his kisses.

“Why did you need the pen?” he asked.

“We’ll get to that. First, you gotta tell me. Am I going to get in trouble for debauching you?” she asked, then chewed on the end of that pen as she waited for his answer.

A terrible habit, he thought, gently tugging the thing from between her teeth. “Are you sure you debauched me? Because I’m not convinced. Perhaps you should try again.”

The warmth of her laughter filled the room, enchanting him. He wanted her to laugh like that at least a hundred times a day.

“Such a guy thing to say, but no more attempted debauchings tonight. I have to save something for tomorrow.”

That she planned to spend another day with him, that she had just given him something to look forward to, that she truly had forgiven him… If he’d been standing, he would have dropped to his knees, once again humbling himself before her, thankful and grateful. Now he smiled. A genuine smile of delight.

She reached out and traced a fingertip along the curve of his lips. “I love when you smile like this.” Her fingertip moved to his cheek, to the dimple Hadrenial used to flash him. “You’re… Actually, there are no words for what you are. Beautiful isn’t adequate, and exquisite barely scratches the surface.”

Appearance had never meant anything to him. Until now. “Thank you?”

Another laugh bubbled from her, her skin and her face glowing with health and life and vitality. She was the one who defied description. “Yes, that was a compliment. Now, then. The trouble thing.”

“No, you will not get into trouble. Remember, the Deity’s angels have a different purpose than the Most High’s, and are therefore governed by the same set of rules as the humans. Yes, my race was created by the Most High, and given to the Deity, but we are more like you. Not that you will ever hear any of us admit it.”

“Well, all right, then. The pen. I want to play a game with you.” She placed the tip just over his chest, frowned then looked up at him. “Wait. Another question, or a demand really. Tell me about the black spot. It’s bigger than last time—and last time it was big!”

His gaze flicked to the spot in question. Yes, the black was already several inches larger than it had been two days ago. “When my brother died, I saved his essentia. His love.”

“His spirit,” she said. “Or soul?”

“Love is an emotion, yes, but it’s also a power. So I took from his spirit. I took out a piece of mine, as well, so that some part of us would always be together. That removal killed this part of me—” he tapped the spot “—because I did not replace it.”

A dread-filled moment passed as she absorbed his words. “Why is it spreading? And don’t try to redirect me, or shut me down or tell me not to worry like you did last time. I will play a card you don’t want me to play, because yes, I can be devious like that, and then we’ll both feel bad.”

He would not have her feeling bad. “The growth was slow but steady until my Deity punished me with the snow for daring to ignore his orders. Afterward, the growth was fast and steady.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why the growth?”

“It is…death.”

Her jaw dropped, but she snapped it shut. “Put back the piece you removed. Right now! That should stop the spread of death.”

“I cannot. What’s in the urn is a combination of Hadrenial and me. I cannot separate the two. They have already bonded.” Like the demon had bonded to her, he thought, his hands curling into fists.

Her chin went into the air, and he knew her stubborn side was kicking in. “Well, think of it this way. I’m not asking you to separate the two. I’m telling you to use the combination.”

Oh, yes. Stubborn. “I failed to save his life. I even rendered the deathblow. I do not deserve to live off him.”

“You gave him what he wanted. You ended his torment. You deserve—”

“Annabelle—”

“Zacharel. You are far better than you give yourself credit for. How many times have you saved me? What would I have done without you? What will happen to me if you…if you… I can’t even say the word! Do this. Please.”

How could he deny her anything? “I…will think about it,” he said, and he would, but deep down he knew that he would not change his mind. If he did as she wanted, he would forever carry a piece of his brother. Him, a man utterly unworthy of such a blessing.

“Thank you.”

Guilt rose, but he shoved it aside. “Now, will you show me why you have the pen?” he asked, changing the subject.

“My pleasure,” she said with a smile only half the wattage of the others. “Have you ever played tic-tac-toe?”

“I’ve never played anything.”

“Well, then, prepare to be dominated. I’m a master. I win against myself every time we play.”

He snorted.

Hand steady, she began to write on him, treating his chest as if it was a sheet of paper and drawing what seemed to be hundreds of tic-tac-toe boards. He was X’s, she was O’s, and they tied every game.

Well, they tied until she used his nipple as the center O, lancing sensation to a groin he’d expected to be dead for days. He moaned, and that caused her to laugh, and of course, that laughter distracted him. She finally won.

By the time they finished, he was marked up from neck to toe, and so was she. Although he hadn’t drawn boards on her—he’d written his name. And suddenly he understood the appeal of tattoos. He liked his name inked into her flesh and suspected he would like having hers inked into his.

Annabelle formed a circle with her fingers, looking at him through the center as though she was a scientist and her hands a lens. “I want to take a picture of you just…like…this. You’re—” Her eyes darkened to a haunted navy blue, and her hands fell heavily to her sides.

Each of his muscles petrified, but he fought through and cupped the side of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“He removed my clothes and took photos of me.” Her gaze practically seared a hole in Zacharel’s chest.

“Who?” he whispered fiercely, but he already knew the answer. The knowledge that a man had forced his attentions on this lovely woman had irritated him before, even angered and offended him, but now, after everything he and Annabelle had shared, after having his own hands on her, after having her hands on him and learning the beauty of such contact, he was beyond enraged.

“Dr. Fitzpervert. He did more than take pictures. He touched me, too.” Shame coated her voice, dripping, dripping, coating his skin with a layer of the same black oil that had covered his cloud.

“Where did he touch you? Tell me everything, Annabelle.”

In a blink of time, Zacharel felt as though he was breathing fire, his body burning up with fever. While Annabelle was strapped to a gurney and drugged, the human responsible for her care had squeezed and licked her, and touched her in places he shouldn’t. And that the horror of a human had kept reminders of these violations, that he most likely found joy in them…

“I’m sorry that was done to you.” Sorry he hadn’t found her sooner.

At last she looked up, and the same fire inside him swirled in her eyes. “When I’m stronger, I’m going back.”

She was strong enough now, but Zacharel caught the fright in her voice, a piece of her past she had not yet overcome, and knew some part of her expected the doctor to drug her and lock her back up, making her helpless all over again.

Silent, Zacharel rose from the bed and dressed. He tugged Annabelle to her feet, helped her dress in the new set of clothes Thane had left at the door, pulled a robe over the clothes, and drew her into his embrace. Still without saying a word, he flew her out of the building and across the night sky, cool air whipping against them. She remained quiet, too. No doubt she knew where he was taking her.

Thane’s report about Annabelle’s life had listed every address of every person she’d come into contact with. The closer they came to Colorado, the colder the air became, and even with the fur lining in her robe, Annabelle was soon trembling.

“We don’t have time for this now,” she said.

The doctor’s one-story home came into view. “We’ll make time.” Zacharel should have made time before this, in fact. “There is a time for mercy and a time for fighting back.”

He flew inside, landed and let her go. He wanted to hold on to her, and he also wanted to inflict maximum damage on her tormentor, but this wasn’t about him and his wants, he realized then. This was about Annabelle’s needs. Torturing Fitzherbert would make Zacharel feel better, certainly, but what would that gain Annabelle? Merely a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

He strode through the home, Annabelle at his heels.

“What are you going to do?” she asked softly.

“Me? Nothing,” he replied in his normal tone. This was her war, and her long-awaited victory. He noticed the neatness, the simplicity. Fitzherbert enjoyed comfort over luxury, yet favored aesthetics over practicality. An odd combination. “Unless you desire something of me.”

“Shh! What if he’s here?”

“He is. I can hear him breathing. But he cannot sense us.” Yet.

She relaxed, but only slightly.

The lights were out, but Zacharel’s gaze cut through the shadows without any problems. He found the bedroom and positioned himself at the end of the queen-size bed. Fitzherbert was a lump in the center, snoring peacefully.

Beside him, Annabelle tensed.

“He is divorced with two children,” Zacharel said. “Teenagers. They live with their mother, so he is alone.”

“Do you think I should…kill him?”

If she did, Zacharel would be blamed. As with the demon-possessed Driana, he wasn’t concerned by her actions. He would gladly bear the consequences. “Will that bring you peace?”

A moment of silence. A sag of her shoulders. “No. For the rest of my life I would remember what I did to him, rather than what he did to me. I will have killed a human the way a demon killed my parents.”

“I will kill him if that is what you desire, and I promise you, I can make his pain last. Or, if you prefer, I can end him quickly. I would be satisfied either way.”

Another round of silence as she wrung her hands together. “No. I won’t let you go down for something like this.”

Then he would never, ever tell her that her actions were as his own.

“Will you…I don’t know, wake him up and hold him still?”

There was no need for her to ask twice. With only a thought, Zacharel allowed their presence to manifest. He spread his wings and rose, hovering over Fitzherbert, grabbing him and tossing him into the wall. Plaster cracked and dust plumed around him. In a flash, Zacharel closed the distance, latched on to the doctor’s neck and lifted him off his feet, pinning him to the wall.

Impact had woken Fitzherbert up, and now the man struggled for freedom.

Annabelle switched on a light, and when the human saw who held him—and who watched him—he stilled, his skin turning a putrid shade of green. His jaw dropped, a bit of spittle rolling from the corner of his mouth.

“Tell her where the photos are,” Zacharel demanded, loosening his hold just enough to allow the man to speak.

The green deepened. “I d-don’t know what you’re— Okay, okay, I know,” he rushed out when Zacharel tightened his hold. “They’re deleted. Of course. I swear.”

A foul taste suddenly coated Zacharel’s tongue. “A lie. And I do not like liars, Dr. Fitzherbert.” He tightened his grip, making it more of a vise than before, and felt the man’s bones begin to crack.

You aren’t to kill him, remember?

“He wouldn’t risk having them developed,” Annabelle said with only the slightest tremor in her voice. “I bet they’re still in his phone. Or maybe on his computer.”

Fitzherbert burst into motion, clawing at Zacharel’s arms.

“I bet you’re right,” Zacharel said.

Paler by the second, Annabelle picked up the cell phone resting on the nightstand. She pressed a few buttons, frowned. “I was wrong about the phone. There are no photos saved in here.”

The doctor relaxed. “Told you,” he squeaked out.

“You mentioned a computer. Check the one in his office. Two rooms down.”

The flailing renewed.

Annabelle left the room, her footsteps fading. Zacharel released Fitzherbert, the disgusting man slamming into the ground, wheezing for air. Before he could scramble away, Zacharel crouched down and placed his knee in the man’s chest.

“You aren’t going anywhere. You hurt my female.”

The human held up his hands, palms out, all innocence. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know she’s a killer. Violently insane. I’m her doctor. I would never—”

Zacharel backhanded him, breaking his jaw and ensuring silence. “I told you. I do not like liars. You hurt her, and one way or another you will suffer for that.”

Wide eyes filled with horror, the doctor wilted on the floor. He knew. He knew he had reached the end of the line.

“I have encountered males like you before. You are weak, but you like to pretend you are strong. That’s why you pick victims who cannot fight back.” He arched a brow. “I wonder, does your wife know what a vile coward you are? Is that why she left you? Do your children know?” Zacharel got in his face. “Do not worry. If they don’t, they soon will.”

Annabelle stomped into the room, tears tracking down her face, her chin trembling. “You sick pervert! You…you…monster!” A screeching catapult, she launched herself at Fitzherbert, punching him, kicking at him.

Zacharel stepped out of the way, and waited for her to finish. Already her skin was patched with demon scales, her nails sharpened into claws. She’d removed the robe, and he could see that the back of her shirt was ripped, the jagged edges of wings trying to emerge.

Eventually the last of her energy drained. She threw herself away from the now-bloody man and sobbed.

“Tell me,” Zacharel commanded softly.

After a few gasping breaths, she managed to get out, “The pictures were on his computer. They were also loaded into a digital frame, along with those of other women he’s abused. They flash as he works.”

“Did you delete them?”

“No. I wanted to, almost did, but…I want to take him and the evidence of what he’s done to the police. I want him to pay for what he’s done the right way.”

Fitzherbert’s struggles renewed, his panic nearly tangible.

“And so he shall.”

Though it took some convincing—in the form of Zacharel’s fists—Fitzherbert eventually dialed 911 himself and confessed his crimes. That done, Zacharel gagged him, stripped him and staked him to his own front lawn to await his arrest. His neighbors came out to watch. The fact that nobody attempted to intervene told him that Annabelle wasn’t the only one who loathed the good doctor.

Annabelle was fully demon by the time the policemen arrived, so Zacharel kept her hidden from prying eyes, not only with his abilities, but also by tucking her into his side and covering her with his wings.

At first she struggled against him. “D-don’t touch me when I’m like this. I can’t bear it.”

A lie. She could bear it; she also needed the contact as much as he did. He’d hurt her while she was in this form, and so she assumed he found her ugly, repulsive even. He needed to prove otherwise.

“Come closer to me.” He forced her to tuck herself into the line of his body. “I want to show you something.”

Her claws embedded in his chest, and she released a dejected breath. “Let me guess. The end of a dagger?”

A lance of self-directed anger, no longer contained near his heart, but shooting through his entire body. “I told you I would never again hurt you, and I meant it.”

Silence.

“You’re right.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll go wherever you want me to go.”

“Good girl. And as you once told me, I’ll make you so happy you said that.”