“You do not have to sound so impressed,” Zacharel said, not liking the idea on any level. Impressed, Thane would desire the female…perhaps stop at nothing to have her.
Thane frowned at him. “I’m simply curious. And, very well, I will ask what is not my business. Why have you claimed her as your own if you plan to leave her here?”
“I have not claimed her.” Zacharel could not get the words out fast enough.
“Then why have you spread your essentia all over her?”
“I have not touched her.”
“And yet her skin bears your tinge.”
“Not mine.” Essentia, a substance that swirled inside each of their bodies, sometimes seeping through the pores of their hands to become a fine powder, allowing them to claim any object they considered their exclusive property. Demons produced a similar substance, only theirs was tainted.
Zacharel’s attention whipped to the female. “I have never claimed a human.” He’d never had so much as a yearning to do so. “She does not glow.” He saw nothing out of the ordinary about her skin.
She watched him unabashedly, and he nearly shifted on his feet. Him. Shifting. Inconceivable!
“I promise you,” Thane said, “the gleam is very dull but there, and it’s a definite warning to other males not to touch what belongs to you.”
Him? Impossible. “You are mistaken, that’s all.”
“Argh!” the girl interrupted. “I’m done listening to this meaningless jabber. Team Winger sucks! Just forget that I’m here. Oh, wait. You already have. So here’s an idea—leave.”
She had more mettle than even Zacharel had realized, and he was trying not to be impressed, or baffled, himself. “Go,” he said to his warrior. “I want you and my other advisors—” which included Jamila “—waiting in my cloud. No, strike that. Not you. Go and find every detail about this human that you can.” A need to learn more about her kept pricking at him. Better to heed it than to regret not doing it.
“Whatever you say, glorious leader.” Thane stalked from the room. Just before he vanished, he cast the girl one final glance, causing Zacharel’s hands to clench into fists. How many times would the action happen in a single day, when before he’d gone years without doing it once?
“If you want to know about me,” she snapped the moment she was alone with Zacharel, “you could have just asked me.”
“And give you the chance to lie?”
Hurt cascaded over her features, but only for a second. Pride took its place, and remained. “You’re right. I’m a no-good liar, and you’re Mr. Truth. So why are you here, Mr. Truth? I’m pretty clear on the fact that it’s not to save or free me.”
There was no reason not to tell her. “I was told to destroy the horde of demons trying to get inside the building.”
A beat of panic. “Horde, as in army?”
“Yes, but they are no longer any type of threat. My army was successful against them.”
Slowly she exhaled. “They wanted me, right?”
“Yes.”
Another beat of panic before she sagged against the bed. “But why me?”
She had no idea what had been done to her. None at all. Yet she would have remembered being tricked…or seduced. So how had the demon managed to mark her?
“Well?” she demanded.
Ignoring her, Zacharel claimed the folder still lying on the floor, the one the doctor had dropped, and riffled through the pages.
She banged her head against her pillow once, twice. “Fine. Pretend I’m not speaking. Whatever. I’m used to it. But please, glorious leader, allow me to save you the trouble of digging through the little details, since even a liar like me would have no need to fudge those.” Without pausing to allow him to respond, she added, “To start, my name is Annabelle Miller.”
The truth, confirmed in the notes. Annabelle. Latin for loveable. “I am called Zacharel.” Not that it mattered.
“Well, Zachie, I—”