Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)

She told Zacharel, and he nodded, saying, “That makes sense. The only question now is why the demon did it. Without your knowing consent, and the dream would not have provided that consent, he violated one of the highest heavenly laws. Free will.”

Her heart skipped a tortured beat. Something in his tone… “And you’re an enforcer of those laws, right?” That’s what he’d told her during their first meeting, she was sure. And that could only mean…

“No,” she thought she screamed, but the word emerged as a whisper. “No.”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“So you will be the one to carry out his sentence?”

A nod this time, rather than a verbal response.

Another heartbeat was missed because she suspected the answer. “And that sentence is?”

There was a long, tense pause. He looked up, he looked down, then left and right, as if he wanted to be anywhere else. Finally, she heard, “Death.”

Every fiber of her being rebelled at the thought of her own. By upholding the law, Zacharel would be killing the demon, yes—but he would also be killing Annabelle. “How would this…merging—” she gagged “—cause me to change into a demon four years after the fact?”

“I’ve seen the way the Lords of the Underworld come to physically resemble their demons when their own negative emotions overtake them. It’s just as you described. They lose control of their humanity, all reasoning abolished. The demon inside the cloud knew what had happened to you all those years ago, so he knew how to elicit the response he wanted.”

“I agree, I do. I mean, the emotion thing was my idea. But I don’t understand how four horror-filled years could have passed without a single change, and then all of a sudden, boom.”

“You are forgetting that you were drugged for all of those four years, and those drugs were meant to suppress the depths of your emotions. Even when you began to feel things strongly again, the drugs were likely lingering in your system and diluting the full extent of your feelings.”

“But I’ve been over the withdrawals for a while,” she said, clinging to a hope that they were wrong.

“You’ve also been injured or recovering. Weakened.”

Yes, there was that. “But what about the Water of Life?”

“It healed the human part of you, but aggravated the demon part, and it, too, would have slowed your transformation.”

And she’d certainly been aggravated the two times he’d fed her the stuff, hadn’t she.

Hope withered. Her chin quivered, and her eyes welled with tears she refused to shed. She was part demon. The truth whispered through her. She was part demon. It was a scream of outrage and helplessness this time.

Calm, you have to calm. “Will I change again?” she croaked, though she already knew the answer. Could already feel the burn sprouting in her chest.

“With extreme negative emotion…yes, I think you will.”

“Can the demon piece be removed from me? Replaced with something else?” Another spark of hope formed…

“No. Too much time has passed.”

…and was destroyed.

I won’t cry. I won’t.

“The demon you carried through the forest, he had absorbed my brother’s essentia. There was a piece of me in there, too. But I did not die when the demon died because nothing had taken root. And I was able to remove everything from the body without any resistance because that essentia recognized me. What’s in you has taken root and would resist. It would not recognize me, nor want any part of me.”

She heard his unspoken words. If he tried to free her, she would suffer and probably die anyway. “I don’t care about the pain or even dying. Get the demon out of me.” Now!

“You might not care about dying, but I do,” he said simply. “I will not do that to you. Ever. Do not ask it of me.”

Only took a moment to understand his vehemence. He still suffered over doing the same to his brother, and could withstand no more. So no, she couldn’t, wouldn’t ask it of him. “Wh-what should I do, then?”

“I will find the high lord. I will lock him away.” Zacharel rested his head in her lap, his arms wrapping around her waist. His body began to shake. “I am sorry for this, Annabelle. So very sorry.”

She felt something wet and warm saturate the fabric of her robe, and frowned. Tears? No. No, this strong, proud warrior could not be crying. “You would lock him away rather than kill him, despite your law and your orders?”

“For you, I will do anything.” He looked up at her, lashes spiky and eyes glassed. He was crying. “And I give you my vow, here and now, Annabelle, that I will not kill you. I will not allow another angel to kill you.”

And he would probably be killed for his own crimes in the process. “Don’t do that.”

He rushed on. “Somehow, someway, I will find the demon who did this to you. I will lock him away.” His grip tightened on her. “I will do everything in my power to safeguard you always. And if you cannot bear to look upon me, I will do so in secret.”

“No, I—”

“I finally comprehend what the Deity was trying to teach me,” he said, cutting her off, “what I failed to realize all these centuries. I thought I had learned, but still I would have done what I felt needed doing.”

“What are you saying?”

“Collateral damage. The people I have killed and allowed to be killed were demon possessed or cavorting with demons, and I thought their murders justified. But what if they were like you? Innocent? What if it was not just them I hurt in the end, but the people who loved them and still had hope for their salvation? What if there was hope for their salvation? Actually, there is always hope. I know that now.”

His hold on her tightened as his tears fell in earnest. “I am sorry, Anna. Not because you know my sin but because it caused you so much pain.”

Seeing him so torn up soothed her in a way nothing else could have. He cared about her. He felt remorse. Glory, he felt.

Sighing, she sifted her fingers through the silk of his hair. The fact that he had as much reason to hate demons as she did, yet he wasn’t rejecting her now that he knew she was…she was… She couldn’t think the words again. The truth would have to be dealt with, but that would come later. For now, she just wanted to bask in this moment and in the man who loved her.

And he did. He loved her. He might not realize it, having denied his emotions for so long, but she was certain of it—just as she was certain that she loved him, too. He had saved and protected her. He had seen the best in her, and was helping her do the same. He allowed no one to disrespect her, and wanted only the best for her. He would never leave her, and she would never leave him.

Yes, he was a difficult man, a complex man, and he wasn’t used to the emotions he was now experiencing, or even softness. But he gave both to her, and she would give both right back to him.

He was a part of her now, more so than…than… Anyway. He was a beautiful part, a welcome part, strong and courageous and fun to tease. He was tender and gentle, yet hard when she needed him to be.

She cooed at him until he quieted, and though she regretted the need to do it, she finally extracted herself from his hold. He offered no protest, kept his head down, once again refusing to face her.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” She raced into the bathroom before he could reply.

As swiftly as possible, she took care of business, brushed her teeth and removed her robe. She was naked underneath, and utterly scrubbed clean. So clean, in fact, she sparkled. However the angel robe worked, she was grateful.

Now, for Zacharel. He needed her, and she needed him. They both needed to forget what had happened, what would happen, if only for a little while.

The hinges on the door squeaked as she emerged from the bathroom. Cool air kissed her bare skin, spreading goose bumps along her arms and legs.

Zacharel sat at the edge of the bed, his elbows propped on his knees, his head bent. His wings were spread out, a wealth of gold now without any hint of white. Or snow, she realized. Once again, he’d stopped snowing.

“According to our bargain, I’m supposed to kiss you anytime the urge hits me, and you’re supposed to accept. Right?”

His gaze snapped up. He’d dried his face, but he couldn’t mask the glassiness of those emerald eyes. “Annabelle,” he said on a rumbling breath, looking her over. “After everything that’s happened, you cannot mean—”

“I do.” Slowly she walked to him. When she stood between his legs, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His muscles were knotted. His gaze moved to hers, as if he couldn’t trust himself to continue peering at the rest of her.

“I want to be with you,” she said. She frowned as a thought hit her. “Unless you’re not allowed to be with a woman melded to a—” Her lips pressed together in a thin line. She didn’t want to think the words, and she didn’t want to say them. “It’s okay if you can’t. I’ll just—”

In a rush of motion, Zacharel had his arms around her, and her feet kicked out from under her. She tumbled forward, and he positioned her in his lap. For balance, she had to straddle his thighs.

“You are mine,” he rasped. “Only ever mine. I accept all that you are, and we can be together.”

Relief poured through her, a beautiful waterfall. “I’ll make you so happy you said that, Winged Wonder.” Very gently, she pressed her lips into his, a soft melding, a gentle exploration.

“You forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Thank you, Anna. Thank you. And I know, the words are not enough. I will show you how I feel. Let me show you.”

She opened her mouth, and he rolled his tongue against her. His decadent flavor instantly consumed her; he was the finest aged wine, strawberries dipped in the richest chocolate, and as fresh as a newly sprung river.