“Like you were a child when your twin was taken?”
His jaw clenched painfully. She was trying to absolve him of his own wrongdoing. While he liked that she tried, there was a difference in their stories. She had fought for her parents’ lives; he had taken his brother’s.
“Hadrenial begged me to kill him. I couldn’t do it, though. Not at first. I loved him with all that I was, and I finally had him back. I thought he would heal, and physically he did. But he was determined to die and kept hurting himself in the worst of ways. Kept hurting others in an attempt to force them to act against him. I knew one day he would succeed and if that happened, his spirit would be cast into hell. I would never again see him.”
“So you finally did it.” Her voice was layered with sadness.
“Yes. I killed him to save him.”
He expected disgust. He expected horror. Instead, Annabelle calmly asked, “And also ensured you would one day be together?”
“No,” he croaked. “He did not wish to live, even in the afterlife. I ensured he experienced the true death. I poisoned his spirit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like humans, we are spirits, the source of life. We have a soul, or the embodiment of our logic and emotions—and we live in a body.”
“So…what is the spirit if it’s not the same as the soul?”
“The soul is the middleman, so to speak, intertwined with both the spirit and the body. Without the spirit, the body could not survive, for the spirit is the outlet, where the electricity awaits, the soul is the plug, and the body is that which is propelled into action. Make sense?”
“Yes.”
“For a true death, you must destroy all three. I poured water from the River of Death down his throat, killing both spirit and soul, and then burned his body.” And yet, some small part of Zacharel still hoped for the best, imagining that Hadrenial had not truly died even then, but that his spirit had passed into the Most High’s kingdom, where he awaited Zacharel’s death so they could be reunited one day.
“I’m sorry, Zacharel. The agony of such a choice…the pain of such a loss…”
If he said any more, he would break down. He sensed it, grief churning deep in his gut, ready to spill out. “Sleep now, Annabelle.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tomorrow you must face your brother.”
*
BY MORNING, HOLDING ANNABELLE in his arms had sharpened Zacharel’s newfound need into a deadly edge. She had tossed and turned, rubbing her body against his, tracing her hands all over him.
He had done nothing about it. And he wouldn’t, not until he had her pledge to remain with him.
While she showered—and he fought the urge to join her—he summoned Thane and commanded the warrior to procure for her a pink T-shirt and a pair of jeans, as well as new undergarments. Also in pink. Zacharel wanted to see her in the feminine color, and so he would. It was as simple as that.
To his utter bafflement, Thane already had the desired clothing in one of his air pockets. As Zacharel removed the tags, he wondered if the items had been meant for the man’s lovers.
“Do you have an extra set?” Just in case.
“Of course.” Thane handed him the clothing, and Zacharel placed the extra in an air pocket.
“She’ll need these, too, I’m sure,” Thane said, handing him two bejeweled blades.
He claimed them, saying, “Wait here.” Leaving Thane on the balcony, he deposited the first set of clothing in the bathroom, the air thick and misty and smelling of floral shampoo. Even sweeter, Annabelle was singing off-key.
“Loves like a hurricane, something, something, something, bending beneath the weight, something, something, mercy.”
She did not know all the words, he realized, and had to fight a grin. Adorable. But what struck him deepest was that she sounded…happy.
He left before she caught him listening—and enjoying—and returned to the balcony. The door was still open, the chill of dawn seeping inside.