Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(25)
Author: Gena Showalter

Snake-shifters were the first.

Still, the Phoenix were blood-hungry and cruel, deriving glee from destruction. They lived and thrived in fire, and they could force the dead to rise from their graves—and those that rose were then bound to serve them, enslaved for the rest of eternity.

Thane set his empty glass on the bar and straightened. “I don’t want to leave her waiting any longer.”

Bjorn and Xerxes stood. Six long steps and he stood between them. They stalked forward, then branched apart, heading to three separate bedrooms. Only silence emanated from his. His hands were surprisingly steady as he shoved open the double doors. Closed them.

He heard the soft click of his friends’ doors as he considered his soon-to-be conquest.

The female reclined on the bed, a mound of pillows at her back. She was gloriously naked, hair of gold and scarlet like crackling flames and tumbling over one shoulder. Even at this distance, Thane could feel the heat of her, the warmth licking at him. Thin chains forged by an immortal blacksmith circled her wrists and ankles, rendering her a slave to her captor’s commands, the metal somehow compelling her to obey orders.

Bjorn must have purchased her in the sex market. “Do you want this?” he demanded. “Want me? Speak true.”

She licked her lips. “Oh, yes.”

“You do not feel forced?” There was only one line Thane would not cross in the bedroom, and that was forcing himself on another. “No matter what happens between us, you will be free to leave this place.”

“No, I’m not being forced. I was told I’d be paid.”

Ah. She wanted money, not him. He was utterly okay with that, had had to go this route before. “You will be.”

“Then why would I leave when wealth awaits me if I stay?” she asked, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear.

An ear that pointed at the end. “Excellent question.”

She grinned, and he saw that her teeth were fanged like a vampire’s. Her body was a study of beauty, a wealth of sensuality. Though he couldn’t see the back of her, he knew she would be covered in tattoos that bore the mark of her tribe.

“You were told what would be required of you?” he asked.

“Yes, which means all this talking is merely wasting my time and your money.”

“We don’t want that.” With a single tug, his robe fell away from his body, leaving him bare. The material was so light, it made no sound as it landed on the floor.

Thane crawled onto the mattress, the edge dipping with his muscled weight. A moment later, the female was on him. For a long while, he knew nothing but the burn of her nails and the scrape of her teeth. Then little beads of fire began to seep from her pores, blistering him just right and wringing exquisite groan after exquisite groan from him. He loved it as much as he hated it.

She performed every terrible act he required without hesitation, and he toyed with the idea of keeping her far longer than he’d ever kept another. Usually he was done after two or three beddings, not wanting to see revulsion smoldering in eyes that should be filled with desire. Because, after a while, the females always gave way to revulsion. They thought about what they’d done, what he’d done, and they regretted it all. But this female laughed with genuine pleasure as she performed, and he would be willing to bet she always would. Her greed for money would allow nothing less.

When it was over, Thane lay still, trying to catch his breath, enjoying the sensation of burning from the inside out.

Through the wall at his left—purposely thin so that he and his boys would hear if they were needed—he caught the heartbreaking echo of Xerxes retching into the toilet, just as he always did after sex.

He wanted more for his friend. Better. But he had no idea how to help.

He dressed and left the Phoenix exhausted on the bed. Bjorn was already in the sitting room, alone and peering blankly into a fresh glass of vodka.

Thane fell into a chair. Bjorn never glanced up, too lost in his head, in the darkness that had finally come for him.

Xerxes stepped out of his room, pale and shaky, and avoided Thane’s gaze. He, too, fell into a chair.

Thane loved these men. He did. He would happily die for them—but he would not let them die. Not like this. Not in misery.

They’d crawled out of that dungeon together, and somehow, someway, he would drag them out of their self-imposed hell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE NEXT MORNING, A NAKED Zacharel sat at the edge of his bed and rolled his brother’s urn in his hands. It was a clear, hourglass-shaped jar, the substance inside a thick liquid as transparent as the urn, with only the tiniest of rainbow flecks glittering in the light.

This urn was Zacharel’s greatest treasure. His only treasure. Now and forever, he would protect this urn as he had not protected his brother.

“I love you, Zacharel.”

“I love you, too, Hadrenial. So much.”

“Do you?”

“You know I do.”

“And you would do anything for me?”

“Anything.”

“Kill me, then. A true death. Please. You can’t leave me like this.”

“Like this” had been broken, bloody and violated in unspeakable ways. “Anything but that. You’ll recover. One day you will even be happy again.”

“I don’t want to recover. I want to cease to exist, now and forever. That’s the only way to end my torment.”

“We’ll make the demons pay for what they did to you. Together. Then we can talk about this again.” And Zacharel would once again deny him.

“If you don’t kill me, I’ll kill myself. You know what will happen to me then.”

Yes, he’d known. You could not render the true death upon yourself. Hadrenial would have been able to slay his own body, but his spirit, dark as it had currently been, would have lived on and been cast into hell. That hadn’t swayed Zacharel. Still he’d said no. But in the end, Hadrenial had stayed true to his promise. He had tried to end himself over and over again. Always Zacharel had brought him back with the Water of Life.

Those years, his entire existence had been spent chasing after his brother, saving his brother and, finally, killing his brother to at last end his pain. It was a decision Zacharel regretted to this day, for this urn contained all that was left of Hadrenial.

Zacharel had mined from deep inside his brother’s chest the essence of all the love he’d ever felt, then poisoned him with the Water of Death, taken from the stream that flowed beside the Deity’s River of Life. That water was the only way to kill an immortal once and for all.