“We’ve been searching for you, Zacharel,” Thane said. “We tried to reach you mentally, but you failed to respond.”
Interesting that he recognized Zacharel, even in this form. Interesting, too, that he had called her angel by his name rather than Majesty, as he’d done at the institution.
“I had closed myself to receiving.”
Like switching off a phone?
“Shall we change our visage, as well, and join the party?” Thane looked over Zacharel’s demon skin and frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He turned to his companions. “He’s bleeding.”
“She cut him,” the rainbow-eyed guy said, his incredulity unmatched. “Her blade still drips.”
The scarred guy took a menacing step toward her.
She braced her legs apart, ready to greet him. “You want to taste my blade, too? ’Cause I’ll let you if you try and challenge me.”
Zacharel moved in front of her. In a blink, the demon visage was gone, his dark hair, sun-kissed skin and robe returned. “No one touches the girl. Ever. Anyone does, and he will die.”
“Yeah,” she said, jumping in front of him—only to be pushed back. “He’ll die.” Would no one ever look at her and think she’s innocent?
All three men gaped first at Zacharel, then at her. Then one by one they nodded. And if she wasn’t mistaken, they cast each other sly, amused glances. That amusement baffled her.
“Two shockers in one day,” Thane said. “First, concern for my commander. Second, watching a tiny fluff of nothing act as his protector. Are you ashamed, Zacharel?”
Zacharel tossed her a this is your fault glare.
She shrugged, not sorry in the least.
“Well, now that we know Zacharel is so well guarded,” the rainbow-eyed warrior said in a sneering tone, “we have business to attend to.” Any lingering amusement vanished. “We thought you’d like to know that the demons that attacked your cloud were sent by Burden and we now have his location.”
Zacharel reached back and clasped Annabelle’s hand, as if he needed to assure himself she was there and she was well.
The one with red eyes perused Annabelle up and down before dismissing her. “He’s at the Black Veil. We tracked him down, but did not have an opportunity to fight him. He let us know that he has Jamila, then he demanded ‘the weak and vulnerable Annabelle’ in trade—and don’t try to gainsay me, female,” he added without looking her way. “You are.”
“Am not,” she grumbled. She so was, when compared to these creatures.
To Zacharel, he continued with a clenched jaw, “He also said that if you go with an angel escort, he will behead Jamila. If you refuse to go, he will behead Jamila.”
Annabelle translated: in essence, Zacharel was screwed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE BLACK VEIL WAS A HUMAN nightclub located in the pulsing heart of Savannah, Georgia. Zacharel had hunted many demons along these sultry midnight streets, and wasn’t surprised Burden had made a home there, or that he’d possessed the body of the human who owned the club, just to feed off the turmoil of the patrons.
Intensely hot this time of year, Savannah’s humidity was so thick it left a film on one’s skin—even angel skin. Had it not been for Annabelle, Zacharel would have asked the Deity for the return of the snow.
He was not in his customary robe, but wore a black mesh tank, black leather pants and scuffed combat boots. To add to the look, he’d spiked his hair down the center—a Mohawk, the humans called the style—and rimmed his eyelids with kohl. Tattoos now sleeved both of his arms, and once again his wings were hidden from human eyes. All necessary changes.