He tugged on a robe before stalking to Annabelle’s door. There he paused, unsure whether or not he should enter. Yesterday he had been angry with himself for agreeing to help her learn to fight demons, and had left her to her own devices.
As promised, he had not locked her in the room. He had expected her to hunt him down, but she had stayed put—and that had made him angrier.
What was she doing to him? Usually he was a man without a temper. For centuries he had been known for his coldness both inside and out, yet around her he felt as though he were teetering at a very sharp ledge of danger. Even now he was tense, his jaw aching from the constant grinding of his teeth.
All night he’d imagined kissing her. Kissing her deeper, harder, better than the man who had come before him, finally giving into temptation that he kept trying to convince himself wasn’t truly temptation. Why? She wasn’t special. She was a nuisance, a burden, existing for only a brief span of time. There were thousands like her.
Were there really?
Yesterday he’d peered down at those lush pink lips and craved. He’d never before craved. Maybe because he’d had another woman’s taste in his mouth, his interest in the act had been pricked, a desire kindling to compare what was forced with what was given. Maybe not.
The report Thane brought him had made Zacharel want Annabelle a thousand times more. She had endured multiple beatings from humans and demons alike, yet they hadn’t diminished her audacity. She had an older brother who’d written her terribly hurtful letters, lashing out at her for her actions, yet she had responded with only kindness and understanding. Doctors had locked her up, overmedicated her, harmed her irrevocably, but she had fought back with every bit of her strength.
No, there weren’t thousands like her.
He should walk away from her now, before he decided to nix his plan, abandon common sense and keep her—and later lose her. Before he caused collateral damage on purpose, simply to avenge her.
Zacharel had only to stay with her a little while longer. A few weeks, perhaps a few months—no longer than a year—and she would be able to fight the evil that hunted her. He would make sure of it. They could then part, and he would never again have to think about her…though he had no idea where he would take her or how he would absolve himself of her responsibility in the Deity’s eyes, but those were details for another day.
Determined, he entered the room.
She sat at the edge of the bed. When she spotted him, she hopped to her feet, her blue-black ponytail swinging back and forth. “I think it will be best if we end our association now” were the first words out of her mouth.
Then you should have worn something else, he thought, dazed as he drank her in. Gone were the tank and soft, flowing pants. Instead, she wore a black leather bustier that revealed more cleavage than it concealed, and scuffed black leather pants that molded to the lithe strength of her.
Suddenly self-conscious, she shifted from one booted foot to the other. “I asked the cloud for battle-ready clothing, and this is what I got. There are slits all over the pants, for easy access to the weapons, I’m guessing. But the bustier has me stumped. Unless, of course, the cloud thinks my cleavage will stun my opponents into stupidity.” Frowning, she anchored her hands on her hips, shook her head. “My outfit doesn’t matter. Take me back to Colorado.”
“No, it doesn’t matter and no, I won’t. I thought we had come to an arrangement.”
“Yes, but…” Her gaze dropped to her feet, only to snap back up and narrow.
“What?”
“You are beyond frustrating,” she grumbled. “Why can’t you do what I ask you to do without issuing a million questions first?”
“I could say the same to you.”