“Possessed,” she echoed hollowly.
Good. She would never again gaze at Paris in such a longing manner. Petty of him? Maybe. Did he care? No. “Most of the people here are demonically influenced, as I told you, but a few are actually possessed. Burden employs them—the demons, I mean, and pays them to tempt any of the Black Veil’s patrons who are not yet so evilly inclined.”
Her fingers tightened around his, and he knew she hoped to take strength from him. “So what are we supposed to do now?”
“Now we wait.”
Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long. A female parted the masses on the dance floor, then slowly strolled toward Zacharel. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, she had a silky fall of pale hair, skin a light dusting of rose and eyes as golden as the moonlight outside.
Large breasts were barely concealed in a red leather dress, patches of material cut from the sides to reveal perfectly flared hips. The dress’s hem stopped just below her bottom, making it clear there were no panties to shield the apex of those mile-long legs.
Beautiful, yes. But also one of the demon possessed.
He could sense the human soul banging at the doors of her mind, desperate to escape the demon’s hold. It had been a recent possession, then. Within a few days, most likely.
She stopped in front of him, but her gaze focused squarely on Annabelle. “There’s my sweet little geisha. How I’ve missed you.”
“What did you just call me?” Annabelle gasped out.
The human male, Fitzherbert, had said those exact words to her, Zacharel recalled. Sweet little geisha. Zacharel did not believe in coincidences. The demon now possessing the woman in front of her must once have possessed someone at the institution. Not Fitzherbert—Zacharel would have sensed it—but someone who spent a great deal of time inside the building. A patient, most likely, which made sense. Minions who’d created a stronghold inside a human mind could convince their hosts to do almost anything. Burden would have wanted one with easy access to Annabelle, watching, listening, probably even encouraging others to hurt her, then reporting back.
Glossy pink lips curled in a seductive smile. “Did you miss me, too, little geisha? I could take pictures of myself and give them to you. That way, whenever we part, you can look at them and think of me.”
For some reason, the comment enraged Annabelle. She grabbed—and launched—two of her daggers. Both were soon embedded in the other woman’s chest.
“I’d like a picture of you just like this,” Annabelle snarled. “Thoughts?”
The female let out a shriek of shock and pain…then unleashed a stream of black curses, ending with, “I’ll straight-up murder you!”
Some of the dancers noticed the violence and screamed, running for the door. Others just kept bumping and grinding.
“You will do no such thing,” Zacharel said.
The woman gritted her teeth and removed the now-dripping blades with a sharp jerk. “Control your pet, angel.”
“Unlike you, demon, I do not stoop to controlling humans.” And if his Deity thought to reprove Annabelle, he would stand in the gap and bear the punishment for her.
Funny that he had complained about just such a thing only a few days ago. Even funnier that he was more than willing—happy—to now do so.
“Sorry about that,” Annabelle muttered. “Rage got the better of me.”
He clasped her hand, squeezed. “Because of the demonic charge in the air, that will be easier to do. Guard your emotions.”
“Enough!” the demon shouted. Her eyes narrowed…eyes now glowing a bright, bright red. Clearly she did not appreciate being ignored. “This way.” With that she turned and led them through the club, pausing to look smugly over her shoulder. “But do not expect Burden to be as welcoming as I was.”