Thank. You.
Two words that would forever haunt him. He did not deserve her thanks, and he was certain he would not receive it again when she awoke and came to her senses.
Not knowing what else to do, he pinched her carotid, stopping the flow of oxygen to her brain, forcing her to pass out. A mercy, and yet his shame nearly suffocated him.
So badly he wanted to pour what remained of the Water of Life down her throat. Anything to save her. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what had been done to her, and he was too afraid the liquid would act as poison to her, as it did with other demons.
She’s not a demon! instinct shouted.
He tenderly laid her on the ground, then rushed to strap the dead demon to his back. When he returned to Annabelle, he gathered her close to his chest and stood, careful not to damage her wings further. Her weight barely registered, she was such a slight thing.
Slow and easy, he flew to his former leader’s cloud and demanded entrance. As he waited, Annabelle began to shiver. Her body temperature was too low—because she’d lost too much blood?
The cloud opened to him, and he glided inside. To his despair, Lysander was not the one to greet him. Instead it was Bianka, Lysander’s female, a Harpy with an affinity for trouble and wickedness.
Chewing gum, she looked him and Annabelle over, twirling a strand of her long black hair around her finger. “About time you brought me a cloud-warming gift, but did you have to pick one of the ugliest demons I’ve ever seen?”
“That was so rude, insulting the warrior’s present like that,” another female said. Kaia, Bianka’s twin sister, strode over, a half-empty bottle of Boone’s Farm in her hand. In Burden’s office, what seemed forever ago, she had been dressed for war. Now she was wearing an angel robe and all about relaxation. “Besides, I’ve seen way uglier.”
“Enough,” he growled. Witnessing the twin sisters and their us-against-the-world rapport used to fascinate, reminding him of what he could have had with his brother. Just now, only Annabelle mattered.
The girls looked at each other and giggled, and it was then he knew. They were drunk.
“Why don’t you put it over there,” Bianka said, pointing to someplace behind her, and then beside her and then in front of her, “next to the demon-skin rug I’ll probably give you for Christmas. Or under the table. Or better yet, on the porch where it might be accidentally on purpose kicked to the earth.”
How did his leader stand her? “Where is Lysander?”
She flashed her fangs at him, suddenly irritated. “Someone, and I won’t mention your name, Zach, abandoned his post at the Deity’s temple, which meant my man had to step in and save the day. So I decided to have a girls’ night.”
Another crime Zacharel would be forced to answer for, but that was not a current concern. “My woman needs tending. If you will show me to a bedroom—”
“Told you Big Z had the hots for someone,” Kaia burst out.
“And I told you to stuff it. Guaranteed he misspoke just now.” Bianka anchored her hands on her hips. “Tell my sister you don’t have the hots for a woman. Or a demon. Or anything with a pulse.”
“She is not a demon,” he shouted, the intensity of his anger shaking the cloud.
The black-haired Harpy cringed and clutched her ears. “Uh, do you want to pipe down before I rip out your tongue and slap you with it? Word on the street is, there’s such a thing as an inside voice. I’m skeptical, but do me a favor and give it a try.”
He forced his voice to gentle. “Annabelle is human. My human. She needs help. Now.”
“Let’s back this word train up. A puzzle piece just slid into place inside my magnificent brain. That’s Annabelle?” Kaia stepped forward, clearly intending to brush Annabelle’s hair out of the way and study her face.