Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark)

“It is not what you feel that truly matters but what you say and how you act while feeling that way.”


A moment passed as she absorbed his words. Ultimately, she sighed. “Okay, look. I’m tired, and you were kind enough to ensure Fitzpervert wouldn’t be coming back. This will be my only chance to rest without someone sneaking up on me. Will you just go already?”

If you cannot do what I need, then leave me here. I hate that you’re seeing me like this. Go, please. For once, listen to me and obey. Go!

He gritted his teeth. No more thinking about his brother.

“I will go, yes,” he said, “but you? What will you do?”

“The same as always.” Her tone was as emotionless as his own, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He much preferred her mettle. “I’ll survive.”

But for how much longer?

For several minutes, Zacharel debated what to do with her—and reeled over the fact that a debate was needed at all. Were he to take her with him, she would cause problems. Of that, there was no doubt. He would have interfered in a human’s life, many human lives, and he would surely be chastised. Right now, he already had one whipping looming over his head. Jamila’s. But were he to leave Annabelle behind, she would eventually break. The thought of her crying and begging as his brother had done disturbed him.

He could visit her once a week, he supposed. Check on her, guard her. Unless he was called to battle, of course. Or injured. And in the meantime, while he was gone? What would happen to her?

A counterargument sparked to life. If he aided her, he would not be interfering. Not really. He would be protecting her fully, and that’s why he was here, after all. That’s what his Deity wanted him to do: protect the humans at any cost. Zacharel would be rewarded, not reprimanded. Surely.

Well, then, decision made.

When he closed the distance between them, he…at last discerned the glow Thane had mentioned. A soft, gentle light the same shade as Zacharel’s eyes seeped from her, washing over her, bathing her with a subtle radiance.

But…he had not touched her. Not once.

“Have you been in contact with another angel?” he asked, though no two angels produced the same shade of essentia. But a demon could not have done it. There was no way the epitome of evil could have produced such a magnificent color.

“No.”

Truth. There had to be an explanation. Perhaps…perhaps the glow was all her own, natural. Just because he had never heard of such a thing did not mean it was impossible.

“What are you planning to do to me?” She met his gaze, surprising him with the ferocity banked there, daring him to do…something.

“We will find out together.” He reached out, intending to undo one of the cuffs, and she flinched.

“Don’t!” she said.

Realization dawned. She had been abused, and she expected the same treatment from him.

To promise never to harm her in any way was, perhaps, to lie to her, and he could not lie to her. Humans were sensitive beings, their feelings and bodies easily hurt. Accidents happened. No telling what she would find fault with in their dealings together.

Just how long do you plan to be with her?

“Right now, I plan only to free you and escort you from this place,” he said. “All right?”

Hope flickered in those crystal eyes. “But you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you,” she rushed out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you. You won’t regret this, I promise. I’m not a danger to anyone. I just want to go somewhere and be by myself. I won’t cause any trouble. I promise! And seriously, thank you!”

He undid the first cuff, walked to her other side and repeated the entire process.

Tears filled her eyes as she pulled her hands tight to her chest and rubbed at her wrists. Not from pain, he didn’t think, but from joy. “Where will you escort me?”

“To my cloud, where you will be safe from the demons.”

Gena Showalter's books