She scrambled up. The demon’s headless torso slammed against her back, pressing against new tendons and bending her wings, making her cry out. She wasn’t sure—
Something else, something harder, slammed into her from behind. Her feet were swept out from underneath her and she smashed into the dirt. This time, she did lose her hold and the demon shot forward, flipping end over end before smacking into a tree.
Before Annabelle could react or right herself, equally hard fingers were daggering into her scalp, jerking her up, twisting her around. Fierce emerald eyes peered down at her, Zacharel’s face so overcome with rage his features were actually altered. His cheekbones appeared sharper, his lips thinner. Even his body seemed bigger, his muscles straining the fabric of his robe.
“Zacharel, please. Let me go before I—”
“Be silent.” He backhanded her, and if he hadn’t been holding on to her dress with his other hand, she would have smacked into another tree. “You do not speak unless I tell you. Understand?”
A thousand other stars winked through her vision. He shook her, and she cried out.
“What did you do with the human girl?” He got in her face, placing them nose to nose. “I know you did something, for you smell of her.”
Stay calm. “I—I am her. I’m Annabelle.” Her jaw was already swollen, the two parts refusing to work properly. Could he understand her? “I’m Annabelle.”
His eyes slitted dangerously. “You are not.”
Oh, yes. He could understand. He simply did not believe.
His grip lifted to her neck, and he hauled her off her feet, her legs dangling. He kept her suspended like that for several heart-stopping moments. All the while she kicked at him. He was going to kill her. Here, now, he would choke the life out of her, thinking she was a demon. And he wouldn’t be pleasant about it, wouldn’t make it easier for her.
“Taste…” she managed to gurgle out. Taste the truth.
A twig snapped a few feet behind him. He dropped her as he spun. As she gasped for breath, she crab-walked backward. If she could stand, she could run. If she could run, she could hide until she figured out a way to get through to him. But her legs failed her, the muscles like two-ton boulders.
She watched as Zacharel produced his sword of fire and struck, burning through a bush. A sharp cry was released—and then cut off abruptly. The scent of charred leaves and rotten fish filled the air, wafting on a sudden, frigid breeze. A thump, a demon head rolling, followed by another thump as the body fell forward.
He spun to face her, the sword still in his hand. One step, two, he approached her.
“Zacharel. D-don’t. Me. Annabelle. Taste. Truth.”
Still he approached.
Annabelle blinked, darkness closing in around her. “Please…taste…”
“I will never taste a demon.”
“Words…taste…words…” She met his gaze as long as she could, waiting, hoping…slipping into darkness.
*
ZACHAREL WATCHED as the female demon stood on suddenly steady feet. Between one blink and the next, her eyes went from ice-blue to blazing crimson, the silky length of her blue-black hair lifting from her scalp as if she’d just been struck by lightning. Nails elongated into daggerlike claws, and—
Ice-blue eyes. Like Annabelle.
Blue-black hair. Like Annabelle.
It’s me, Annabelle.
He stilled, his study of the creature intensifying. She wore a red dress similar to the one Driana had worn at the club. The material was ripped, gaping and bloodstained. Dark green scales covered her body—a body shape his hands knew intimately. Her shoulders were stooped, with monstrous wings stretching from around her back, the ends twisted into sharp little knots and points.
Taste the truth.
Demons were liars and tricksters, but when he smacked his lips, it wasn’t a lie or a trick that he tasted. He savored the sweet taste of truth.
The being in front of him was Annabelle.