Wicked Nights

CHAPTER SIX

THANE RETURNED TO ZACHAREL’S cloud with a dossier about Annabelle Miller’s very short, very miserable life. The new leader of the Army of Disgrace, as so many of their peers had begun to call them, accepted it with his customary politeness. Meaning, none at all. Zacharel was as cold as always, offering no murmurs of thanks but giving a curt nod of dismissal.

More and more, Thane actually liked the warrior’s directness. Liked Zacharel, too, and that was a fact that shocked him to the marrow of his bones. He hadn’t been part of an actual army for more than a hundred years, and he never would have joined another if his Deity had not commanded him to follow Zacharel…or else.

At first, Thane had seethed. How dare anyone tell him how to spend his time? If he wanted to laze in bed, seduce any female that caught his eye and fight every demon he encountered, he would. But what he decided, his boys decided. They were one for all and all for one, or however the humans said it. That’s how things worked with the three of them. He, Bjorn and Xerxes were in this together, whatever this happened to be, and he could not allow them to rebel because he could not allow them to suffer the consequences. Thane could endure anything but that.

Now, three months into their new arrangement, he was suddenly glad he had not rebelled. Well, he had rebelled against Zacharel with little insults here and there, but he had also joined the army rather than fall. He realized the lack of leadership and structure had rubbed him raw, that his life had been nothing but a chaotic mess and he’d needed order somewhere.

Thane flew to The Downfall, a pleasure house in the Deity’s section of the heavens. Over the centuries, more and more of the Deity’s angels had succumbed to temptations of the flesh. They had needed a place to indulge without judgment from anyone but themselves, and so Thane had given them one.

The Downfall belonged to him. He, Bjorn and Xerxes lived there, as did the immortal lovers they kept. Lovers that never lasted long, for each male preferred new and different.

Despite this proclivity, they had not yet warranted the ultimate fall, though Thane knew they teetered on the brink.

Angels in the Deity’s faction fell from grace because they welcomed evil into their hearts, because they habitually cheated, stole, lied—yes, it was possible—or committed cold-blooded murder. Because they succumbed to the follies of hatred, envy, fear or pride, or because they refused to turn away from some sort of depravity.

They were not to aid a demon, or seek revenge against another angel for a perceived offense. They were to bring their grievances before the Heavenly High Council.

Since Thane’s escape from a demon prison those hundred years ago, he and his boys had done everything but aid a creature of the dark. He wasn’t sure why they had been given this chance.

If they failed to correct their behavior, their sins would eventually catch up to them. He knew that. But still Thane could not bring himself to change. He was what the demons had made him.

Stars twinkled all around him as he landed on the roof of the towering building. He’d chosen brick-and-mortar rather than a cloud, for he’d suspected too many patrons would have taken advantage, commanding the cloud to produce all manner of illicit things. Plus, clouds were expensive. While he could afford one, and could have chosen to live separately from the club, he knew himself well enough to know that he, too, would have taken advantage.

Two doorways were accessible from the roof. One led to the club itself, and the other to his private chambers. Two angelic guards stood at attention on either side of both. He nodded to the pair in front of his personal entrance, and they moved aside. A mental command caused the wide double doors to glide open.

The slow bump and grind of music echoed from below as he strode down the empty hallway to his sitting room, where Bjorn and Xerxes waited. Both reclined in plush velvet chairs and sipped at their drinks of choice.

Thane stopped at the wet bar and poured himself a tumbler of absinthe. He turned, leaned against the marble counter. This sanctuary was a study of indulgence, he thought as he scanned the room. Everywhere he looked he saw treasures given to him by kings, queens, immortals and even humans. Intricately carved tables, polished to a glossy shine. Couches and chairs draped in luxurious fabrics, each a different jewel tone. The rarest of rugs, chandeliers dripping with precious gems rather than crystals.

“Has Zacharel begun shagging the human yet?” Bjorn asked. He was, perhaps, one of the most beautiful angels ever created, his skin gilded with all that gold, his eyes like a mosaic of the most expensive of amethysts, sapphires, emeralds and tourmaline.

But Thane remembered a time when the warrior had not looked so pretty. Their captors had chained Thane to the filthy floor of their cell and strung Bjorn up above him. Over the ensuing days, those same demons had peeled the skin from Bjorn’s body, careful, so careful not to damage the flesh. Blood had rained upon Thane in a continuous flow, soaking him.

Oh, how the warrior had screamed…at first. By the end, his lungs had deflated and his throat had been nothing but pulp. The demons had then taken turns wearing the skin as a coat, laughing, pretending to be Bjorn while performing all kinds of lewd acts.

Xerxes had been chained to the wall across from them, his stomach pressed into the stone, his arms shackled over his head, his legs pried apart. He was forced to listen to everything that was done to his friends, but unable to see it. And maybe that was worse. He’d never known what happened around him as he was whipped and…other things were done to him.

The horror of his time in that cell had wiped all color from his once auburn hair and peach-tinted skin, leaving him as white as milk. Blood vessels had burst in his once amber eyes, turning the irises red.

None of them ever spoke of their incarceration and torture, but Thane knew just how his friends really were. After every fight, Bjorn spiraled out of control. After every sexual encounter, Xerxes vomited. But neither one would stop the fighting or the bedding.

Thane had learned to embrace this side of himself.

“Someone’s lost in his thoughts,” Bjorn said. The spiral from this last battle hadn’t yet hit him…but it would. It always did.

“Feed him his teeth,” Xerxes suggested. “He’ll respond, I promise.”

They’d asked him a question, hadn’t they…about Zacharel and the human, he recalled. “What do you think?” he at last replied. “Zacharel was in his office, writing a report about something. Our performance, most likely.”

“Think he’ll ever thaw?” Bjorn asked.

Thane shuddered. “Let’s hope not.”

Xerxes rubbed the scars on his neck. Everyone assumed his immortality had failed him and he’d somehow ended up looking like a poorly put together puzzle, but the truth was, his body was simply always in the process of healing from the damage he constantly inflicted.

“I killed sixteen demons at the institution,” he said. This was one of the only topics of conversation he enjoyed.

“Twenty-three,” Bjorn said, a thread of darkness in his tone.

Thane added his tally in his head—he never forgot a kill. “Only nineteen for me.”

Bjorn grinned, but there was no light in his expression. “I win.”

Xerxes flipped him off.

“Such a sore loser.” Thane tsked. “And now a babysitter, too. So where is the fallen you’ve been tasked with guarding? You haven’t mentioned him once since taking over his care and feeding.”

He saw a flare of panic in those crimson eyes, quickly masked. “He’s chained in my room.”

The panic nearly broke Thane’s heart, for he knew Xerxes would never willingly hold anyone but a demon prisoner. “What are you going to do with him?”

“I…don’t… Buy a cloud, I suppose. Keep him locked there.”

“I do not recommend that, my friend. If you think he’s able to care for himself, you’ll never check on him.” His guilt wouldn’t let him.

“And the problem with that?”

“The fallen are practically mortal. He could decide to starve himself, waste away.” And you would only blame yourself.

Xerxes confronted Thane dead-on, determination radiating from him. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“I’ll leave him here for now. Check on him once a day. Force him to eat if necessary.”

“While you’re at it, talk to him,” Bjorn suggested. “Find out why he fell.”

Both of his boys knew it was just a matter of time before they, too, lost their wings and immortality. They would delay the inevitable for as long as they could, hence their cooperation now, but like Thane, they would never veer from the path they were on.

The demons had made sure of that.

Thane drained the rest of his drink, poured himself another and drained it, too. The potent alcohol burned going down, but by the time it reached his stomach, it cooled to a sweet, drugging warmth. And yet, the pleasant sensation did nothing to lessen the tension inside him.

“Did you find us girls for the evening?” he asked no one in particular.

“I did,” Bjorn answered. “They await us now.”

“What is mine? Vampire? Shifter?” Not that he cared. A female was a female was a female.

“She’s a Phoenix.”

All right, perhaps he did care. Excitement joined the tension that always hummed inside him, lighting him up from the inside out. So many immortal races walked the earth and several realms of the heavens. The Harpies, the Fae, the elves, the Gorgons, the sirens, the shifters and the Greek and Titan gods and goddesses—or so they liked to call themselves, when in truth they were nothing more than kings and queens who had allowed pride to exalt their opinions of themselves—and countless others. The Phoenix were the second-most dangerous.

Snake-shifters were the first.

Still, the Phoenix were blood-hungry and cruel, deriving glee from destruction. They lived and thrived in fire, and they could force the dead to rise from their graves—and those that rose were then bound to serve them, enslaved for the rest of eternity.

Thane set his empty glass on the bar and straightened. “I don’t want to leave her waiting any longer.”

Bjorn and Xerxes stood. Six long steps and he stood between them. They stalked forward, then branched apart, heading to three separate bedrooms. Only silence emanated from his. His hands were surprisingly steady as he shoved open the double doors. Closed them.

He heard the soft click of his friends’ doors as he considered his soon-to-be conquest.

The female reclined on the bed, a mound of pillows at her back. She was gloriously naked, hair of gold and scarlet like crackling flames and tumbling over one shoulder. Even at this distance, Thane could feel the heat of her, the warmth licking at him. Thin chains forged by an immortal blacksmith circled her wrists and ankles, rendering her a slave to her captor’s commands, the metal somehow compelling her to obey orders.

Bjorn must have purchased her in the sex market. “Do you want this?” he demanded. “Want me? Speak true.”

She licked her lips. “Oh, yes.”

“You do not feel forced?” There was only one line Thane would not cross in the bedroom, and that was forcing himself on another. “No matter what happens between us, you will be free to leave this place.”

“No, I’m not being forced. I was told I’d be paid.”

Ah. She wanted money, not him. He was utterly okay with that, had had to go this route before. “You will be.”

“Then why would I leave when wealth awaits me if I stay?” she asked, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear.

An ear that pointed at the end. “Excellent question.”

She grinned, and he saw that her teeth were fanged like a vampire’s. Her body was a study of beauty, a wealth of sensuality. Though he couldn’t see the back of her, he knew she would be covered in tattoos that bore the mark of her tribe.

“You were told what would be required of you?” he asked.

“Yes, which means all this talking is merely wasting my time and your money.”

“We don’t want that.” With a single tug, his robe fell away from his body, leaving him bare. The material was so light, it made no sound as it landed on the floor.

Thane crawled onto the mattress, the edge dipping with his muscled weight. A moment later, the female was on him. For a long while, he knew nothing but the burn of her nails and the scrape of her teeth. Then little beads of fire began to seep from her pores, blistering him just right and wringing exquisite groan after exquisite groan from him. He loved it as much as he hated it.

She performed every terrible act he required without hesitation, and he toyed with the idea of keeping her far longer than he’d ever kept another. Usually he was done after two or three beddings, not wanting to see revulsion smoldering in eyes that should be filled with desire. Because, after a while, the females always gave way to revulsion. They thought about what they’d done, what he’d done, and they regretted it all. But this female laughed with genuine pleasure as she performed, and he would be willing to bet she always would. Her greed for money would allow nothing less.

When it was over, Thane lay still, trying to catch his breath, enjoying the sensation of burning from the inside out.

Through the wall at his left—purposely thin so that he and his boys would hear if they were needed—he caught the heartbreaking echo of Xerxes retching into the toilet, just as he always did after sex.

He wanted more for his friend. Better. But he had no idea how to help.

He dressed and left the Phoenix exhausted on the bed. Bjorn was already in the sitting room, alone and peering blankly into a fresh glass of vodka.

Thane fell into a chair. Bjorn never glanced up, too lost in his head, in the darkness that had finally come for him.

Xerxes stepped out of his room, pale and shaky, and avoided Thane’s gaze. He, too, fell into a chair.

Thane loved these men. He did. He would happily die for them—but he would not let them die. Not like this. Not in misery.

They’d crawled out of that dungeon together, and somehow, someway, he would drag them out of their self-imposed hell.