Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark)

Trying for a flippant reply, she said, “Sucks for you that you didn’t order your own,” then popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth.

To her utter shock, he smiled. Smiled! Lips curving up, straight white teeth revealed, dimples out in full glory. Yes, dimples. Awareness burned and blistered, a storm inside her. He was… He was…utterly magnificent.

“I could take the morsel from you right now, just steal it from your mouth. What would you do then, brave little Annabelle?”

She swallowed before she choked. “Be grossed out?” A question when it should have been a declaration.

“Hmph,” he said, his smile disappearing.

For a moment, she felt as though the sun had set, darkness reigned and light could never possibly return. “I didn’t mean I would hate it if you—”

“Forget it. Come, let’s finish your shopping.” He grabbed her hand and urged her forward.

And by urged she meant dragged. “Fine. But only because you’re paying,” she grumbled.

“Don’t worry. You’ll make it up to me.”

“I will? How?”

The gaze he tossed her could only be described as smoldering. “You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN.” Zacharel tucked his wings into his back, darting down a narrow, winding tunnel. They’d been flying for what seemed forever, but he at last spotted their destination. Annabelle tightened her grip and buried her face in the hollow of his neck.

Finally, the tunnel ended, opening into a huge crystallized cavern. He flared his wings, slowing his momentum and gently setting Annabelle on the ground. Her knees shook, and for a moment, she clung to him. Then she released him and stepped away so that no part of their bodies touched. Once again he mourned the loss of her—something that caused him to grit his teeth in irritation.

He’d been obsessed with her all day. Every point of contact, every hitch in her breath, every glance she’d cast in his direction had caused the tension inside him to sharpen. Every change in her emotions had confused him. From happy to sad to playful to morose. He’d wanted to tug her into his arms and hold her until all she felt was the happiness. But he hadn’t allowed himself to do that. Every time she had laughed he’d felt his blood seethe to a hotter degree. He would not have been able to content himself with simply holding her.

And when she’d fed him the cookie? When he’d had her fingers in his mouth? He’d had to fight the urge to strip her, strip himself and finally discover why so many humans enjoyed what happened when two people were naked.

One day very soon, he would allow himself to sample her, to learn the curves of her body, and experience that kind of passion. But he would not yearn for more, would not become addicted to a woman who was both mortal and a demon’s consort. He would assuage his curiosity and return to the life he knew—and liked. Wrong of him, perhaps, but this was the only option available to him.

A warrior angel could not keep a human. The brutal war between angels and demons was far too dangerous for such fragile flesh. And the war brewing between angels and the Greeks and Titans? Already he could feel the tension in the air, hear the whispers of a coming revolt. More than that, their life spans were far too different.

“What is this place?” A quiver of distress shook her as she eyed their new surroundings.

Even without looking, he knew what she saw. A rack, with shackles for someone’s wrists and ankles. A bed with black sheets to hide anything that spilled. A wall of instruments he had no desire to ever use.

He could have chosen another cave that belonged to an angel like him, a male who had never before experienced desire. But he’d chosen Thane’s dwelling, where he’d known these things would be, because he’d hoped to disgust and shame himself into abandoning his current path.

Gena Showalter's books