Wicked Nights aotd-1

by Gena Showalter

  She wasn’t, but so wished she was.

  He motioned to one of the guards, and it was obviously an order to frisk her.

  Zacharel moved in the blink of an eye, a sword of fire in his hand, and poised at the demon’s throat. “No one touches her.”

  The guards made no move to stop him. Either they were too afraid of him, or they had their own orders to obey.

  Burden shifted in his seat, but any discomfort he felt was quickly masked with an air of superiority. “If you strike at me, my people know to kill Jamila.”

  “I would be no kind of leader if I protected one of my charges above another. So I repeat, no one touches the girl. Ever.”

  That’s my man.

  “Very well. No one will touch her while you’re here,” Burden allowed, evidently not the least bit upset that his authority had been questioned.

  “Agreed.”

  Wait. What?

  Zacharel’s sword vanished.

  The demon’s grin returned. “Because I’m so generous, I’ll allow your woman to keep her weapons.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” Annabelle said, acting as if she did, in fact, have a few surprises tucked away. Now it’s time for you to zip it, Miller, and let Zachie do his thing. Remember?

  Burden ignored her, but said to Zacharel with a bit more edge to his tone, “She’ll find I’m not as easy to hurt as the beautiful Driana.” He nodded briefly toward the woman still nursing her wounds on the couch.

  “This conversation grows tiresome.” Zacharel flexed his fingers at his side, before curling his hands into fists. “Let’s move on.”

  Burden lifted a pen from his desk and twirled the thing one way, then the other. “Impatient as ever, I see. To be honest—” he chuckled at his own words “—I’m a little surprised you came. You had to know I wouldn’t keep my end of the bargain to return Jamila to you.”

  Zacharel eyed him impassively. “That goes without saying.”

  Wait. He’d known they were walking into a trap? Then what the heck were they doing here?

  “So why are you here, angel?” Burden asked.

  “I will tell you. After I see proof that Jamila still lives.”

  Burden flinched at the layer of truth in Zacharel’s voice. “Some things never change, I suppose. It’s comforting to know you’re as suspicious as you are impatient.”

  “And you, in turn, are as untrustworthy as you are repulsive.”

  The demon inclined his head in acknowledgment, as if he’d just received a compliment. “Thank you. But why don’t I liven things up and do the unexpected? I’ll give you your proof,” he said, “after I have your word that no other warrior angels are here or even nearby.”

  He had guards all over the club, and probably cameras, too. He should already know the answer.

  “Why should he believe you this time when you’ve already admitted to lying?” Annabelle demanded.

  Burden laughed. “Smart girl. But he believes me because he can taste the truth of my words.”

  Zacharel ran his tongue over his teeth. “I can. And I agree to your terms. My angels are not here.”

  “Someone else’s angels?”

  “No. I am the only angel you will be dealing with.”

  Burden pursed his lips, pondered the situation then nodded. “This is somewhat disappointing. I expected the mighty Zacharel to put up some kind of fight, at the very least. Now I have to wonder why you are so agreeable about this. You knew you could not save Jamila. You knew you were bringing the human into the danger zone.”

  “And you know that according to the bargain just struck I’m not required to give you that information.”

  “True, but I had to try. I’m sure you understand.” The demon leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “Here is what’s about to happen. I will show you your precious angel, as I agreed. Then, you will either walk out of my club without bloodshed or you will stay and watch as my men and I enjoy the human.”

  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.

  Driana sauntered up behind him. “I’ll take good care of you, green eyes. Promise.”

  Don’t do this, Annabelle silently screamed, but he gave no notice. But…but…

  Driana faced her, grinned and waved goodbye. The door shut with a sickening click.

  The gates in Annabelle’s mind swung wide-open, panic spilling through her. He’d done it. He’d lured her here under false pretenses. He’d handed her over to the enemy—to men who would try to destroy her—choosing Jamila’s safety over Annabelle’s, despite his pretty words to Burden about valuing all his “charges” equally. He’d tricked her. Used her.

  Nothing you can do about that. Not now.

  Now she had to find a way out of this.

  Burden chuckled. “And then there were two. What think you of that, little girl?”

  Annabelle met his gaze with all the bravado she could muster. “I think it’s time to finish this. You and me, right here, right now, winner take all.”

  He rubbed a too-long pinky nail between his teeth before he said, “I see now why you’ve garnered so much interest. I find I admire your courage, foolish as it is…and I know I will enjoy breaking you. Which I’ll do, before I escort you to your new master.”

  “Ohhh, a new master. Scary. Why don’t you keep me instead?” she suggested. “You can give me a tour of the club.” I can knee you in the balls and run. “We’ll get to know each other better and…who knows what else.”

  “Darling, it’s impossible to trick me. I’m—”

  The door split down the middle. Suddenly wings wrapped around her, shielding her view of the room. “I’m here,” Zacharel said. “I just had to get the guards outside the office.”

  Oh, sweet mercy! Zacharel had never intended to leave her alone, she realized, had always had her best interests at heart. She should be ashamed of herself for assuming otherwise, but at the moment she was simply too grateful.

  “I thought—” Her words were cut off as gunfire erupted. The horrible clang of metal against metal—and then metal popping through flesh and into bone. Grunts and groans sounded. Shock and confusion blasted through her, holding her immobile. War had broken out, but all Annabelle could do was stand there, clutching the collar of Zacharel’s robe.

  Robe? Yep, she realized. The street clothes had melted away, returning to a flowing drape of material. “Friends of yours?” she asked.

  “Yes. Their timing leaves something to be desired. They should have burst into the office much earlier,” he added more loudly.

  “Hey!” someone said. “We got up here as fast as we could.”

  “Then you need more training,” Zacharel growled.

  Annabelle gave him a shake. “What can I do to help?” She owed him. Because really, this had all happened because of her. She didn’t want anyone else hurt on her account.

  A pause as Zacharel panned the room. “There is no need for you to do anything. Burden is already contained.”

  “True that. We’re all done, big guy. You’re welcome, by the way,” said a husky voice she recognized.

  A voice she would never forget, because it shivered through her with unnatural force. Of course, the scents of champagne and chocolate drifted to her nose, confirming her suspicions.

  The man possessed by the demon of Promiscuity was here.

  Annabelle would have assumed a defensive position—or maybe offensive—but Zacharel held her steady.

  “You’re not done until you clean up the mess,” he announced harshly.

  Wait. They were working together?

  Do not assume the worst. Not this time.

  Grumbles, then, “Whatever you say, angel cake,” a woman said. “Dibs on telling others what to clean!”

  “Kaia,” a man groaned. “You are such a brat.”

  “You’re only jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

  “True.”

  Different sounds soon filled Annabelle’s ears. Something being dragged. A body? A trash bag being opened. Heavy things falling inside, landing. Mumbles of complaint.

  She blocked each one. “Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”

  “Because demons can taste fear.”

  “And he needed to taste mine to believe you,” she finished for him.

  “Not necessarily. Even though you are learning to look past such emotions, I needed your reactions to be honest.” At long last, Zacharel’s wings lowered.

  Annabelle spun. Smears of blood covered the walls and floor, though she could tell someone had tried to wipe them away. Other than that, there was no sign that a battle had taken place. Four bloodstained male warriors and the three females stood in the center of the room, each studying her with avid interest.

  She would have studied them right back, but then she caught sight of Burden, still at his desk, his cheek pressed into the surface and a blade poised at the center of his neck, between two ridges of spine.

  A horribly scarred man held that blade with a steady hand. “What do you want me to do with him, angel?”

  “My men will come and collect him. We have questions, and he has answers.”

  “You said your men were not here,” Burden gritted out.

  Zacharel smiled the cruelest of his grins. “And they are not. Yet. I told you I brought no angels with me, and unlike you, I’m a man of my word. But I didn’t make any promises about demons, did I? Allow me to introduce you to the Lords of the Underworld.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THANE, XERXES AND BJORN strode into the office, but they didn’t say a word, and they didn’t stay. They collected Burden and took off. Everyone watched, silent.

  As their footsteps echoed, Zacharel introduced Annabelle to the group who’d saved the day. Most were demon possessed, yet clearly Zacharel knew them, liked them—and wouldn’t let her hurt them. Lucien carried Death. Strider carried Defeat. Amun carried Secrets and, of course, Paris, the guy who’d needed a light for his cigarette, carried Promiscuity.

  The best she could do was incline her head to acknowledge she’d heard their names. Demons were demons, no matter how you sliced it. She wanted nothing to do with them.

  The women weren’t possessed, but they seemed just as dangerous—if not more so. Kaia was a redheaded Harpy, whatever that meant. Anya was a gorgeous blonde stunner and the supposed goddess of Anarchy, and Haidee was…undoubtedly something, though no one would say what.

  Haidee’s tanned skin glowed with health and vitality, a rosy blush stained her cheeks and a smile brightened her face. She rocked pink highlights in her hair, her arms were sleeved with tattoos, and she wore an adorable Hello Kitty dress. Zacharel refused to so much as glance in her direction, had barely even acknowledged her, yet Annabelle battled the urge to walk over there and hug her.

  Why?

  Better question: Harpies, goddesses, human-looking girls of mysterious origin—what else was out there? What else was Annabelle ignorant about?

  A glint of silver caught her attention and Annabelle bent down to pick up…a dagger. Sweet! The battle was over, yeah, but better safe than sorry, considering what surrounded her.

  “You’re glaring at my friends, and now you’re armed. Why are you glaring at my friends, human…girl…person?” The redhead stepped into Annabelle’s personal space, claiming her notice by rising on her tiptoes to pat her on the top of her head. “Never mind, I can guess. You think that because they’re possessed, they’re pure evil. Well, news flash, china doll. The demons are evil, but the guys who house them are marshmallows. I’m the real nightmare here.”

  At five feet nine, Annabelle towered over the girl. She lifted her gaze to Zacharel, who stood as unyielding as an iron fence, silently asking if he would get into trouble if she knocked Kaia around. Did no one know the difference between Chinese and Japanese?

  He gave a negative shake of his head. “Never mess with a Harpy.”

  “I still have no idea what a Harpy is,” Annabel
le pointed out.

  “A death machine, that’s what,” Kaia said.

  “But…”

  “No buts, Annabelle.” Zacharel looked to the redhead. “And, Kaia. Behave.”

  “Fine. But only because you somehow turned this black as night day into a bright shining light, so I’m gonna do you a solid and obey. Want to know how you did that, huh, huh? Good, I’ll tell you.” She barely paused to pop a bubble with her gum. “You used to give Lysander crap about dating my darling sister, but look at you now. You’re pulling a Paris and dating a Hunter, aren’t you, and they’re the worst of the worst!”

  Pulling a Paris? A hunter?

  Zacharel must have sensed Annabelle’s confusion. “The Hunters are fanatical slayers of the paranormal. They will do anything, even destroy an entire city of innocents, to meet their goals.”

  “I am not a Hunter,” she snapped.

  “That’s what they all say, honey.”

  Zacharel released a long-suffering breath. To Kaia, he said, “Annabelle hasn’t yet learned that a man is not the same as the demon tormenting him, that a man can fight the evil and win, and that too many people believe in acting on what they feel and see rather than believing that they can have more, do better, like the Lords. And I can’t blame her. I have only recently learned this lesson myself.”

  So the Lords had fought against the evil of their demons and won? Such a victory must have come at a terrible price, she thought, remembering the number of battles she’d fought and lost. Respect for them bloomed, and she forced her grip to ease on the dagger—only to realize Kaia had wrapped her hand around her wrist, claws sinking past skin, probably even into bone. Scalding heat radiated from her.

  “You’re too hot,” Annabelle gritted out. Hotter than Zacharel’s hands sometimes were.

  The tiny female smiled unabashedly. “I know, right! But my twin sister is way hotter, I promise.”

  Twin? There were two of them?

  “Kaia,” Zacharel began, as Annabelle said, “Let go of me, tiny tot. Now.”

  “Tiny tot. Cute. But what’s the magic word?”

  “Kaia!” Zacharel and Strider said in unison.

  “Nope. That’s not it.”