Annabelle’s heart skipped a treacherous beat. Zacharel will not walk away. He will not leave you or let these men hurt you. More than that, you will not let these men hurt you.
Zacharel smiled, but it was a cruel one, full of frost, cut with a promise to deliver pain. “You truly think you and your men, or even an army of men, could take me?”
“Maybe, maybe not, but your Jamila will die while we fight.”
Zacharel shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Show me what you promised to show me.”
Only Annabelle’s determination to see this through held her in place as panic threatened to overwhelm her. She trusted Zacharel. Right? But so cold was he right now, the snow could have been falling from his wings. Just remember, he told everyone to leave you alone, and that has to count for something.
Burden tapped a few keys on the state-of-the-art computer on his desk, then paused. His eyes glazed with satisfaction. “Are you sure you want to see this?”
If Zacharel felt any foreboding at the demon’s smug tone, he hid it well. “Yes.”
He swiveled the monitor around.
Annabelle’s knees nearly gave out. The image on the screen… Oh, mercy, the image. Jamila was bound to a bed, her stomach pressed into the blood-and-feather-laden mattress, her back a mess of torn muscle and mutilated flesh.
She was alive, as Burden had promised, but someone had cut off her wings.
“She’s a screamer, this one,” Burden said, his relish palpable. He turned the screen back around and reclined in his seat. “I think I’ll let her heal, and when her wings grow back, remove them a second time. And a third.”
Oh, no. No, no. No! Annabelle had been there and done the whole subjected and forced thing. She wouldn’t allow the same to happen to Zacharel’s charge. “You’ll pay for this,” she said. “Where is she? Tell us. Now!”
Ignoring her, the demon addressed Zacharel. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Zacharel, but I believe the terms of our deal are now met and concluded. You have seen proof that the angel still lives, and in exchange you have gifted me with this delightful young human. I’ll keep my end of the bargain, again, and not touch her until you’re out of the building. And if you’re a good boy and leave without incident, I’ll be the one to have her today. If not, I’ll allow every man inside the club to have her.” He motioned to Driana, who still sat on the couch. “Show him out.”
“Me?” the demon-possessed female said. “But I’m—”
“Show. Him. Out.” Though spoken calmly, there was no doubt Burden would hurt her if she dared question him again.
“Yes, sir” was the cowed response.
“Go with them,” he told the guards. “If he tries anything or speaks to anyone, kill him.”
But Zacharel remained in place. “Why let me go without trying to harm me, at the very least?”
Wait, wait, wait. He wasn’t going to say anything about leaving her behind? Wasn’t going to protest, even a little? Probably just part of his plan. Any second now, he’ll erupt into a sword-wielding hero and Burden would be the one to cower.
“Don’t get me wrong. I would enjoy killing you, then killing your sweet little Jamila, but there would be a trial and who has the time? This way, there’s nothing you can do but remember your failure.”
Zacharel stood still for one heartbeat, then another, silent, stiff. Annabelle waited for him to act, to finally show the slimeball there were consequences for acting this way. Except…he turned on his heel and walked away.
He’ll spin around and attack. Just watch.
Driana opened the door. The guards went first, filing out to await Zacharel in the hall.
Zacharel followed on their heels.
Annabelle’s panic beat at the gates of her mind, desperate to escape.
“Zacharel,” she said in a weak, trembling voice.
His shoulders stiffened, but he never turned around. He was actually leaving her?
Impossible.
“Zacharel!” she snarled.
He paused. His head turned, giving her a view of his profile. He said nothing.