He owed her no explanation about this, and had to stop offering details so freely. When they parted, and they would, she could be captured, could give the information to his enemy. But still he did it. Still he told her. His training would ensure she was never captured. Surely.
“A p-promotion. H-how cool,” she said through suddenly chattering teeth. Mist swirled in front of her face. “Not to change the subject, but, uh, is it cold in here to you?”
Reminded of when he’d first found her, of how frozen she’d been, Zacharel decided he was no longer accepting or grateful for the chill he carried with him. Annabelle suffered, and that he did not like. He would have to ask his Deity for leniency in this matter. And perhaps he would receive it, now that he knew there was a way back into his leader’s good graces.
“A coat,” he said now, and Annabelle’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.
“I should have thought of that.”
“I’m sure you would have.” He held out his hand and a white faux-fur coat appeared.
“Thanks,” she said. “You know, you are one huge contradiction. You’re mean one moment, then nice the next. Threatening one moment, then protective the next.”
“You mean for me to take offense, like before at the institution?”
“Not this time.”
“But you do not sound pleased by the knowledge.”
“Well, I’m not. It’s too hard to get a read on you.”
“I am not a book,” he said.
She nodded. “Exactly.”
“But—”
“Just stick with the meanness and the threatening,” she interjected. “I don’t want to like you.”
A more confusing conversation he’d never had. “Why?”
“I plead the fifth.”
He no longer liked this evasive strategy of hers. “You cannot refuse to respond to all of my queries.”
“Uh, not true. I totally can.”
As she’d just proven. “Then we must work out some sort of reward for when you do answer.” Though that smacked of bribery—because it was—and implied that he cared—which he did. There could be no more denying that, he supposed. Not that the admission would change anything.
One of her brows arched in a parody of an expression he’d given her more than once. “And a spanking for when I don’t?”
“Do not be silly. I would never spank you for such a minor offense, Annabelle.” He liked her name on his lips. Liked the sound of it, the feel of it. “For something major…maybe. But I would never do anything that would cause lasting damage. You are not one of my soldiers. More than that, you are human. You could not withstand much.”
“You might be surprised by my fortitude.”
He meant to respond, he truly did, but he was suddenly snagged by a desire to trace his fingertips over her cheeks, her lips, to know if she would burn him, if her pulse would hammer out of control as he suspected his own would do. He wanted to know if she would inch closer to him or turn away.
You are not a slave to such mortal desires. He would not touch her, and he would not consider her response. But while he could fight the physical—and win—he found he could not fight the mental. His curiosity about her was too great and he found himself saying, “Your mother was Japanese, yet your name is not.”
Annabelle accepted the change of subject with a relieved squaring of her shoulders. “She spent most of her life in the States. And I was named after my father’s mother, Anna Bella.” She drew the lapels of the coat tighter and gave in to her own curiosity. “I’ve been wondering. Are you like the angels in the Bible? I, uh, had the cloud provide me with one last night. I read a few passages, and…well…”
“You see differences between me and the angels you read about,” he finished for her.
“Exactly. And I do remember you saying you were part of a different race…or something.”
He couldn’t help pointing out, “I could refuse to answer, as you have done to me.”