Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark)

“No!” they said in unison.

Fair enough. “What did she say to you after I left?” he asked.

Bjorn massaged the back of his neck. “She’s a mind reader.”

Xerxes’ eyes widened as he stepped backward, toward the door, as though he meant to hunt her down and slay her for such an ability.

“I know,” Thane said. “I figured that was a price worth paying for an hour of her time. Besides, she would not get much from us. Merely sexual thoughts.”

Rainbow eyes glowing with otherworldly rage, Bjorn snapped, “She mentioned what had happened to us. She knew every detail.”

“Impossible.” Only the three of them knew the worst of the particulars, and there was no way she could have unearthed so much buried so deeply even with weeks of constant contact.

“Nevertheless. She did.”

Should have killed her. Thane picked up his phone a second time and told the vampire at the other end, “I have changed my mind. If the woman named Cario ever returns, don’t turn her away. Detain her.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle and struggled for calm. “What shall we do for the rest of the night?” They hadn’t spent a night without at least one of them being with a female in years, but now more than ever, he was desperate for a distraction.

“I want to discuss ways to rescue Jamila’s body so we can give her a proper goodbye,” Xerxes said.

Shoulder’s slumped, Bjorn muttered, “If there’s anything left of her.”

“We won’t know until we find her,” Thane said. “We must search every demon hideout possible.”

“But we’ll be putting our own lives at risk for a dead woman,” Bjorn was quick to add. Searching a hideout was how they’d been captured all those years ago.

“Some lives. In all the ways that count, we’re already dead,” Xerxes replied softly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ANNABELLE PACED THE LENGTH of the newest hotel room while Zacharel reclined lazily on the bed. After she’d apologized (and meant it), he’d flown them all over the globe. Days had passed, almost every moment spent in flight as he ensured no demons followed them, and he deserved a rest. But to remain unaffected while she freaked out? So not cool.

“We’re in Denver,” she said. “Minutes away from my brother’s house.” They’d gone there first, but no one had been home. A blessing or a curse, she wasn’t sure.

“Yes.”

Of course that’s all he had to say, the jerk. Why wasn’t he telling her this would be okay, that her brother would welcome her with open arms and she would leave happier than when she’d arrived?

“I’m going to see him, talk to him.” And question him about the days before her parents’ murder. Cold fingers of dread crawled the length of her spine. Could she do it? Did she have the courage? She could face demons, no problem. But her brother?

The last few sentences in his final letter played through her mind.

I never want to speak to you again. You took away the only people I loved, and I will never forgive you for that. For all I care, you can rot in hell.

“He won’t help us,” she added, her tone hollowed out.

“He will. Now I will hear you say so.”

I will not sigh. “Is this the faith thing?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. He will.” She glanced over at her angel and just…stopped moving. He utterly took her breath away. Dark hair disheveled, green eyes alight with need.

Need. He has need. Of…me?

A decadent fire consumed her in seconds, burning her up. She remembered how cool his touch had once been, then how hot, and oh, sweet mercy, she wanted to feel that change again…

“I’m going to keep our bargain,” she blurted out.

His chest stilled, as if she’d taken his breath away, and his hands flattened on the comforter. “I cannot stop you.”

Wait. “You want to stop me?” she practically shouted.

Gena Showalter's books