To garner the aid of the only men who could slip inside such a club and act as his backup without Burden’s knowledge, he’d had to vow to dress like this and let the whole world see him. It was utterly ridiculous. If there’d been any other way, he would have hurt the men—the children!—in ways they could not imagine for even daring to suggest such a thing.
Annabelle alternately marveled at the change in him and at the luminosity of the full moon. Other humans gave him a wide berth, nearly flattening themselves against building walls to widen the distance between them.
Annabelle danced around him, grinning. “Can I just say what a bad boy you are right now?”
“Of course you can. You just did.”
“No, I mean— Oh, never mind, you spoiled it.” Her lips dipped into a pout.
A pout he wanted to kiss away. He might look all “bad boy,” but she looked…edible. Her hair curled down her back in wanton blue-black ringlets. He’d dressed her in a tight black-and-white-checkered gown with bows at the top and ruffles at the bottom, so that no one would question their association. The hem fell just below her knees, showcasing smooth, bare legs and strappy red heels. She looked like a Goth seventies housewife, ready to await her husband with a spiked drink.
Besides, the more innocent she appeared, the more Burden would underestimate her. And yes, that meant Zacharel was operating under the assumption that Burden and Annabelle would fight, despite the fact that Zacharel would have given up all of his limbs to prevent the two from breathing the same air.
Above all, he wanted her safe. Was desperate to keep her safe.
For a man who’d felt nothing for centuries, Zacharel suddenly felt as if he was drowning in emotion, and not just the desperation. He felt worry for Annabelle’s safety. He felt an intense desire to at last experience everything she had to give before it was too late. He felt concern for Jamila’s safety. Felt guilt over the way he’d treated her. And as irrational as it was, he felt anger that she had allowed herself to be captured.
She had been under Burden’s control for days. A lot could be done to an angel, a female, in that amount of time.
Earlier, he’d attempted to project his voice into her mind, but she’d never responded. His Deity, however, had.
I am displeased. She is your charge, your responsibility. You will handle this.
He would. But…he should have left Annabelle behind, he thought. He still could. It wasn’t too late.
But if he did, she would hate him. Hadn’t she told him she would rather die than be locked away? And to leave her behind, he would have to lock her away. He couldn’t do that to her. Not even he was that cold.
Besides, what if that was what Burden wanted? To have Annabelle left alone, unprotected, so that he could snag her? But no, that couldn’t be right. The high lord couldn’t know what the human had come to mean to him. He would assume the coming interaction was business as usual, that Zacharel would care more for his angel than the human. Therefore, if Zacharel arrived without her, he would be proclaiming to one and all that she meant more to him than his duty, his vengeance and his army. She would become more of a target than she already was. Then again, they would find out anyway.
The fact that Annabelle was currently covered in Zacharel’s essentia would proclaim to one and all that he had been with her. But only that, he thought next. Not what she meant to him.
Very well, then. He was decided. She would stay with him.
“You remember everything I told you?” he asked. “How to behave?”
“After the way you drilled everything into my head? Stay beside you, don’t talk, don’t lose focus, don’t, don’t, don’t. No, I’ve forgotten,” she said flippantly. “What I don’t know is the plan.”
She trusted him to rescue Jamila without trading her, and that would have to be enough. He could not risk telling her the rest. “Do you have any questions for me? Other than ones about the plan?”