Wicked Nights

by Gena Showalter

Page 14

 

  A long, white robe draped him, somehow displaying his incredible strength, and oh, oh, oh, but he had brought the chill of the Arctic with him. She drew her arms around her middle for warmth.

  He looked her over. Something passed over his expression, something she couldn’t read, before he carefully blanked his features. “You are well. ”

  I will not be intimidated, and I absolutely will not be awed by his appearance. Annabelle forced herself to unleash the ire she’d been nursing. “And you are a douche. You made me a prisoner, after I told you I’d rather die!”

  Far from intimidated, he said, “That is no way to speak to me, Annabelle. I am in a dangerous mood. ”

  Like she wasn’t? “Well, well, the mighty Zacharel actually feels something,” she said snippily. “It’s a Christmas miracle. ”

  “It is not Christmas, and I suggest you sweeten your tone. Otherwise, I might take you at your word and kill you. How about that?”

  She gasped, stepped back until she hit the edge of the bed and almost fell. “You wouldn’t dare. Not after you went to so much trouble to save me. ”

  Stark self-loathing darkened his eyes. “I killed my own brother, Annabelle. There is no one I will not take down. ”

  Wait, wait, wait. He’d done what? “You’re lying. ” He had to be lying.

  He snapped his teeth at her, reminding her of an injured animal in too much pain to accept aid from anyone. “I do not lie. There is no need. People lie because they worry over the consequences of admitting the truth. I worry over nothing. People lie because they wish to impress those around them. I seek to impress no one. You would be wise to remember that. ”

  How was this the same man who had cared for her so sweetly? “Why did you kill your brother?”

  “That is none of your concern. ”

  She persisted. “How did you kill your brother?”

  Silence.

  “An accident?”

  “Annabelle!”

  A chastisement if ever she’d heard one. Fine. She’d drop the subject for now. The wounded-animal thing made sense, though. Whatever he’d done, he suffered for it.

  “Why are you letting me stay in your cloud,” she said, “when I so clearly frighten you? And I do frighten you, no matter what you say. Why else would you lock me up?”

  A heartbeat of quiet, his anger seeming to drain from him. “You mean to bait me with that question, I think. You hope to embarrass me into apologizing, into vowing never to lock you up again. ”

  “No. ” Well, maybe a little.

  “Did you wish to leave my cloud?”

  “I wished to leave the room. ”

  “And failed in your attempt. ”

  “Your cloud was the failure, not me. ”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why did you wish to leave?”

  Rather than lie—or slap him again as he so richly deserved—she tossed his earlier words back at him. “That is none of your concern. ”

  Were the corners of his lips twitching? “Did you want to see me? Speak to me?”

  Every word caused heat to deepen in her cheeks. “I will not answer those questions, either. ”

  “Smart girl. You have realized it is better to refuse me than to lie to me. But with your nonanswers, you have told me what I wanted to know. Yes, you wished to see me, to speak to me. But about what?”

  Irritating angel. “Look. Either you promise never to lock me up again, or I bail sooner rather than later. And I realize that’s not really a deterrent for you, but those are the only options I’m willing to entertain. ”

  “Fine. I will never again lock you in this room. ”

  He offered the vow so easily, she was momentarily taken aback. “Well, okay, then. ”

  “You will stay?”

  “Yes. ” For a little while longer, because she wasn’t sure where else to go…or how to return to earth without spilling her guts. “But enough about me,” she said, not wanting him to change his mind. “Did you have to be so mean to that woman?” So much for hiding the fact that she’d been spying.

  His gaze flicked to the empty space beside her, narrowed and returned to her. “You watched me. ” The words were velvet, soft in a way he probably hadn’t intended. All the while, vapor puffed in front of his face, adding to the erotic-dream factor.

  This isn’t your business, Miller. And yet she nodded to encourage him to continue. “I did,” she said, and the scent of him…suddenly clinging to every inch of her…nearly sent her to her knees. How had she missed its allure before this moment?

  One of his brows arched, slipping under that fall of hair. “How was I mean to her? I simply told her the truth. ”

  “You told her the truth, sure, but you did it with no concern for her feelings. ” Do not reach out and brush that hair away.

  “Yes, and she kissed me with no certainty of my feelings. ”

  All right. Okay. That changed everything. Annabelle had been forcibly kissed before, and she had hated every moment of it. She had lashed out at the culprit, too. His reaction was understandable.

  “Actually,” he added, “if I was mean to her, and I’m not admitting that I was, it was to spare her feelings in the future. Now she knows my thoughts on the matter, without any doubt. She will not make the same mistake twice. Furthermore, the truth might hurt but when used properly, it’s never purposely cruel. ”

  What kind of woman would take this man on? she mused. A brave one, certainly. And why was she even entertaining such thoughts? His stupid scent must be affecting her brain.

  “Are you married?” The notion shouldn’t bother her, but it did. But only because she would feel guilty about finding him so attractive when he belonged to another woman, surely.

  “No, I am not married,” he said.

  “Dating anyone?” Though the word date seemed way too mundane to be applied to the celestial being in front of her.

  “No. ”

  “Wanting to date anyone?”

  “No. Enough questions. ”

  “Have you ever dated anyone?”

  He worked his jaw in irritation. “I have never dated anyone, nor have I ever wanted to date anyone. ”

  Her eyes widened. “But that would mean…”

  “That Jamila’s kiss was my first, yes. ”

  No way. No way that had been this beautiful man’s first kiss. Despite his standoffishness, someone would have tried to seduce him before now. “Did you like it?” Oh, no, no, no. She had not just asked him that.

  “Clearly not. ” He moved around her, fingered the silk of the sheets draped over the bed. Very casually, he asked, “Have you ever been kissed?”

  She sighed as memories assailed her. The good, the bad and the wretchedly ugly. Before the institution, the kisses she’d experienced had been with a boy of her choosing. Some had been sweet, some had been passionate, but all had been welcome. After the institution… She shuddered with revulsion. “Yes. ” Would Zacharel think less of her now?

  “Did you like it?”

  There’d been no condemnation in his voice, which was the only reason she responded with, “Depends on which kiss we’re talking about. ”

  He released the fabric and faced her, flattening one of his hands on the bedpost. “More than one person has kissed you?”

  Still no judgment, and yet, there was something in his tone. Something hot. So hot, in fact, the snow stopped falling from his wings, the cold somehow suddenly sucked away.

  Well, crap. She changed her mind a third time. He couldn’t be emotionless. Raw fury blended with sensuality, radiating from those heavy eyelids to his lush lips, already plump and glistening, to the pulse hammering in his neck, to the slow curl of his fingers. “Yes,” she said. “But only one actually counts. Before my confinement, I had a boyfriend. We were together for over a year and did things together. Those kisses I liked. ” Or thought she had at the time. “After my parents’ murd
er, he broke up with me and never came to visit. ” She shrugged, as if she hadn’t cared.

  Truth was, she’d more than cared. She’d needed someone who knew her to believe her, to believe in her, to show her a measure of support or understanding. Heath’s defection had cut deeper than her brother’s, leaving her hollowed out and disheartened. She’d trusted him, and yet he’d so easily walked away from her. Now she had to live with the fact that he’d seen her naked.

  “Who else?” Zacharel asked.

  “A few times, while in lockup, a patient or a doctor…” Another shrug, this one stiff, jerky.

  As she spoke, he lost that hint of sensuality, the coldness returning to him. She took comfort in that. Like her, he hated the thought of others being forced.

  “What made the kisses with your boyfriend so nice?”

  “We loved each other. Well, I loved him. Turns out he was just using me for what I’d give him. I wonder if that’s a teenage boy thing, or just a Heath thing. ” She chewed on her bottom lip, her mind still caught on Zacharel’s confession of total and complete abstinence. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Older than you can possibly imagine. ”

  Please. “One hundred? Two hundred?”

  He shook his head.

  Her jaw dropped. “Five hundred? A…thousand. ” When he gave another shake, she said, “No way. Just no way. You can’t be older than a thousand. ”

  He arched a brow.

  “You are,” she gasped out. “You really are. ”

  “I am thousands of years old. ”

  Thousands, as in more than one. She flattened her hands over her twisting stomach. “And you’ve really never kissed anyone? Of your own free will, I mean. ”

  He stepped into her personal space, saying softly, “This doubt you express toward my confessions is as offensive as it is baffling. ” Cold breath trekked over her face, clean and sweet. “I have never, in all my centuries, spoken a lie. ”