Not that they’d always be together.
Anyway. If she acted the obedient little soldier today, Zacharel would always expect her to be an obedient little soldier. Perhaps even in bed. They would never be equals.
“Okay, listen up,” she said. “For four years I was told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, what medications to take, when to leave my room and when to stay in my room. If ever I disobeyed, I was disciplined harshly and then I was forced to do what I’d first been told. I will not have that kind of relationship with you. I would rather have no relationship at all.”
“You see. This is what I suspected would happen.” His knuckles leeched of color, and she suspected he was pressing into his thigh muscles with so much force he would have bruises for days, the swiftness of his healing no match for the extent of the damage. “If one of my men dared defy me, I would—”
“What? Beat him?” she finished for him. “Well, I’m not one of your men.”
“Beat him, yes. I have done that. I have done worse. And you want to be one of my men. You asked me to train you.”
“And so far you haven’t taught me a single thing.”
Silence, heavy and oppressive.
“Very well. Let’s remedy that.” He was on his feet an instant later, his arms snaking around her and lifting her off her own feet. She experienced that strange sense of weightlessness as he whisked her through wall after wall and into the garden outside.
Without any preamble, he dropped her on her butt. Air gusted from her lips, her brain rattling against her skull. People milled along pebbled paths, she noted, but they paid her and Zacharel no attention.
“Having an audience doesn’t change how I’ll treat you,” she grumbled softly. “If anything, you’ve earned yourself a full-on feminine assault.”
“They cannot see or hear us,” he said.
They couldn’t? “Hey, you,” she shouted, looking around. No one so much as twitched. Wow, they really couldn’t.
“By the way, if I wasn’t clear, I think you’re a turd,” she mumbled, jumping to her feet.
“You wanted to train, and so we will train.” As he spoke, his robe was transformed into a pair of loose black pants. No shirt. “But first…”
His sun-kissed skin darkened…darkened…taking on a crimson hue. Horns sprouted from his shoulders, his wings morphed into something hideous, a thin membrane wetted with blood, and a tail grew between his legs, a metal spike at its end.
A scream ripped from Annabelle’s throat. She withdrew the blades from their sheaths, and acting on instinct, lunged toward the creature straight from the depths of her nightmares, slashing at him. Horror, betrayal and shock blasted through her, turning her blood into toxic sludge. This thing was a demon, and he’d tricked her. All this time he’d tricked her, even gotten her into bed.
“You disgust me!” she shouted as she went for his throat.
Easily he latched on to her wrists, spun her and pinned her against the hard length of his body. “Calm down and think, Annabelle.”
Despite his grotesque appearance, his voice was the same, was Zacharel’s, and the knowledge caused some of her panic to flee.
“You still feel safe with me,” he continued. “You feel no hum of evil. I haven’t changed; I’ve simply changed your perception of me.”
Still she fought him, desperate to free herself.
He maintained a steady grip. “Calm down,” he repeated. “Think. You’ve seen me change my clothes in a blink. You’ve seen me change the color of my wings just as quickly. It is I, Zacharel, the man who held you in my arms, who kissed and touched you.”