“He removed my clothes and took photos of me.” Her gaze practically seared a hole in Zacharel’s chest.
“Who?” he whispered fiercely, but he already knew the answer. The knowledge that a man had forced his attentions on this lovely woman had irritated him before, even angered and offended him, but now, after everything he and Annabelle had shared, after having his own hands on her, after having her hands on him and learning the beauty of such contact, he was beyond enraged.
“Dr. Fitzpervert. He did more than take pictures. He touched me, too.” Shame coated her voice, dripping, dripping, coating his skin with a layer of the same black oil that had covered his cloud.
“Where did he touch you? Tell me everything, Annabelle.”
In a blink of time, Zacharel felt as though he was breathing fire, his body burning up with fever. While Annabelle was strapped to a gurney and drugged, the human responsible for her care had squeezed and licked her, and touched her in places he shouldn’t. And that the horror of a human had kept reminders of these violations, that he most likely found joy in them…
“I’m sorry that was done to you.” Sorry he hadn’t found her sooner.
At last she looked up, and the same fire inside him swirled in her eyes. “When I’m stronger, I’m going back.”
She was strong enough now, but Zacharel caught the fright in her voice, a piece of her past she had not yet overcome, and knew some part of her expected the doctor to drug her and lock her back up, making her helpless all over again.
Silent, Zacharel rose from the bed and dressed. He tugged Annabelle to her feet, helped her dress in the new set of clothes Thane had left at the door, pulled a robe over the clothes, and drew her into his embrace. Still without saying a word, he flew her out of the building and across the night sky, cool air whipping against them. She remained quiet, too. No doubt she knew where he was taking her.
Thane’s report about Annabelle’s life had listed every address of every person she’d come into contact with. The closer they came to Colorado, the colder the air became, and even with the fur lining in her robe, Annabelle was soon trembling.
“We don’t have time for this now,” she said.
The doctor’s one-story home came into view. “We’ll make time.” Zacharel should have made time before this, in fact. “There is a time for mercy and a time for fighting back.”
He flew inside, landed and let her go. He wanted to hold on to her, and he also wanted to inflict maximum damage on her tormentor, but this wasn’t about him and his wants, he realized then. This was about Annabelle’s needs. Torturing Fitzherbert would make Zacharel feel better, certainly, but what would that gain Annabelle? Merely a fleeting sense of satisfaction.
He strode through the home, Annabelle at his heels.
“What are you going to do?” she asked softly.
“Me? Nothing,” he replied in his normal tone. This was her war, and her long-awaited victory. He noticed the neatness, the simplicity. Fitzherbert enjoyed comfort over luxury, yet favored aesthetics over practicality. An odd combination. “Unless you desire something of me.”
“Shh! What if he’s here?”
“He is. I can hear him breathing. But he cannot sense us.” Yet.
She relaxed, but only slightly.
The lights were out, but Zacharel’s gaze cut through the shadows without any problems. He found the bedroom and positioned himself at the end of the queen-size bed. Fitzherbert was a lump in the center, snoring peacefully.
Beside him, Annabelle tensed.
“He is divorced with two children,” Zacharel said. “Teenagers. They live with their mother, so he is alone.”
“Do you think I should…kill him?”
If she did, Zacharel would be blamed. As with the demon-possessed Driana, he wasn’t concerned by her actions. He would gladly bear the consequences. “Will that bring you peace?”