Does it matter? You’ll be free of Fitzpervert, free of this cage, free of the drugs and the other patients and the orderlies…free from the demons.
All this time she had been fighting evil beings from hell. Neither of her parents had believed in an afterlife. They had raised her to be skeptical, too. Well, they had been wrong, and she had been wrong, and now she had a lot to learn.
“Annabelle,” Zacharel prompted, again motioning with his fingers.
This man could teach her, she thought. This heavenly man who appeared so devilish, like a dark, seductive dream meant to lure a female straight into midnight temptations.
Dangerous… Yes, this man is dangerous….
The words were a soft, erotic whisper against her flesh. A whisper she’d heard and felt since the moment he’d entered the room.
Still she said, “I…choose to go.” Staying with him any longer than necessary was another story, however. He might remind her of the dark fairy-tale prince she’d dreamed about so long ago, the night before her birthday, but this man was no charmer.
Trembling, she wrapped her fingers around his. At the moment of contact, he sucked in a breath as if she’d somehow burned him and she nearly jerked away. Steady.
Zacharel called himself an angel, but she had no idea what that meant or what it entailed other than the standard “good and right” stuff. More, she had no idea where he was taking her—a cloud? really?—or what he planned to do with her when he got her there.
“Are you okay?”
“I…need a moment to adjust,” he said, a strain in his voice.
Good, because she needed a moment, too. “Take all the time you need, Captain Modesty.”
“I am Winged Wonder, and I will. Do not move.”
“Uh, that might be a problem.” As cold as she was, his skin proved to be colder. Soon the shivers would overtake her.
He offered no reply. Just peered down at her through narrowed lids, as if he blamed her for something catastrophic.
Could she trust him? Maybe, maybe not. But she wanted her freedom and he could give her that. And yeah, she also wanted to be on her own, relying only on herself. One day, she would be. For right now, escape would suffice.
If he tried to hurt her when they got to…wherever he was taking her, she would fight the way she’d always fought—dirty—whether he was an angel or not.
“This contact,” Zacharel said. He frowned, the downward curve of his lips surely a default expression he couldn’t control. Not once had she seen him smile.
Was there anything that would amuse him, or even rattle him?
“What about it?” she forced herself to ask.
“I expected certain sensations to fade, but they still have not.” His grip tightened on her hand, as if he sensed she verged on pulling away. He tugged her closer, closer, until her body was flush against his. “This is not what I imagined.”
As he wrapped his free arm around her waist, he peered down at her with those eyes the color of emeralds. Her birthstone. Once her favorite stone, in fact, but her birthday had become synonymous with death and destruction and, well, she’d decided emeralds sucked.
But she couldn’t deny his eyes were gorgeous. Long, thick lashes framed those jewel-toned irises that lacked any hint of emotion, softening his features from impossibly cruel to maybe-I’ll-only-make-you-scream-a-little-before-I-slay-you.
He had silky hair that reminded her of a starless night. And oh, how long since she’d stared up at the sky? His forehead was neither too long nor too wide, his cheekbones hollowed as though chiseled by a master sculptor. His lips so lush and red a woman needed only a single glance to fantasize for the rest of eternity.