Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(34)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Kill them.”

“Don’t worry. You did. You killed them,” she said softly.

She had no medical knowledge, no idea what to do to help Zacharel. Applying pressure to the wound, the one thing she did know to do when someone was bleeding, wouldn’t help in this case. She would be applying pressure directly to…she gagged…and might do more damage.

“Kill them!”

“You did, honey. You did.” Annabelle spread the faux-fur coat Zacharel had given her on the bed and stretched out beside him, tracing her fingertips over his brow. His skin burned with fever, the cold long gone. He leaned into the touch, his grimace easing the slightest bit.

“Save her.”

Her—Annabelle? That, she wasn’t as sure about. “You did. You saved her.”

“I…return,” a broken voice said from across the room.

She jolted in surprise, then nearly screamed in horror when she spied Koldo. Or, more accurately, what was left of Koldo.

His hands were clasped to his chest, his big fingers wrapped around something clear and thin. As he dropped to his knees, no longer able to hold his own weight, blood dripped from his now-shaved head. Gone was his robe. He was shirtless, with loose, low-hanging pants covering his legs.

Annabelle eased from the bed to race to his side. “What happened to you?”

“Make…him…drink.” Koldo fell face-first to the floor, his arms extending, the clear, thin something—a vial—rolling from his now-open grip.

His back. Oh, sweet mercy, his back. There was no flesh left, just ruined muscle and fractured bone.

“Do not…give to…me.” His eyes closed, as if his lids were too heavy to keep open. “Only him.”

Nausea churned in her stomach. She was (somewhat) used to blood considering what she’d dealt with these past twenty-four hours, and she was totally used to violence. But this…so much in such a short amount of time…just like the past…rising up to consume her…

For a moment, she was petrified in place, memories flooding her, drowning her, devastating her. Somehow she found a life raft—save Zacharel—and tugged, tugged, tugged herself to the surface.

Make him drink, Koldo had said. Shaking, she swiped up the vial and returned to Zacharel’s side. The stopper proved to be a problem, and she struggled to remove it, feeling like an idiot as she yanked and failed, yanked and failed.

“Is this the same stuff he gave me?” The same stuff that had hurt her before saving her?

“Yes,” Koldo said.

Finally, Annabelle’s biceps came through and the cork popped free. As unsteady as she was, she spilled several droplets down the side of her hand.

“I’m sorry, Zacharel,” she whispered. Because she had no idea how much a big man like him would need, especially since he was an immortal rather than a human—would too much cause an overdose and hurt him, or would too little work too slowly?—she poured half the bottle down his throat.

A moment passed, then another, and nothing happened.

Well, what did you expect? He—

Snarled, his body bowing. He slammed his fists against the headboard, cracking the wood. Next he punched the mattress with so much force, Annabelle was bounced to the floor, more of the liquid spilling from the bottle she still held.

She scrambled to her feet, expecting to see his wounds mending, but…he continued to thrash, to bleed, to snarl.

White-hot fury flowed through her veins, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. No wonder Koldo had told her not to give him any of the liquid. It was poison! And how stupid was she to have trusted him? Well, she would—

As quickly as Zacharel had erupted, he calmed. His body sagged against the bed, and he released a soft sigh. Before her eyes, bones popped back into place. Skin wove back together, until he bore not a single bruise or scratch. Her widening gaze fell to the bottle. What was this stuff?

“The Water of Life.” Zacharel jerked upright, scanning his surroundings, seeming to take everything in all at once. “Where is it?”

“You’re healed.” The words burst from her, riding the tides of her shock.

Emerald eyes landed on her, as clear as the liquid—the Water of Life?—and utterly pain free. Once again he possessed a face chiseled from dreams and honed by fantasies, lovely in a way no mortal could ever hope to be.

Her breath caught, and her blood heated with something other than fury. She wanted to shout with joy and throw herself in his arms. She wanted to dance and sing about the wonder of this mighty miracle. She wanted…more than she was willing to admit.

“You survived,” he said.

All emotion had been wiped from his voice, offering no hint of how he felt. “I did. Because of you, so thank you. Which, I know, isn’t an adequate payment. You took the brunt of the impact yourself, and all I can give you is words. I’m sorry.” She was babbling, she knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “If I had more, I’d give you more.”

“I would like to say it was a pleasure. Yes, I would like to say that, but impact hurt.”

She choked back a laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”

“A joke, when I spoke only the truth?” He waved his fingers at her. “The Water of Life,” he repeated. “Give it to me.”

“Oh. Here.” She held out the bottle.

Slowly, carefully he removed the bottle from her kung fu grip. “Who gave this to you?”

“Koldo.”

In his eyes she saw a flare of shock even the stoic Zacharel couldn’t hide.

Uh-oh. Had the other warrior broken some kind of rule? “But I take full responsibility,” she added. “I asked him to do it. Therefore, any penalty should be mine.” Koldo had more than come through for her and for Zacharel. She owed him and according to her new motto, she had to pay him back.

“Where is he?”

As much as she liked Zacharel, as much as she owed him, too, she didn’t know him, not really, and wouldn’t throw the other guy straight into the fire. “What do you plan to do to him?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I would not harm a man who has aided me, if that is what you are hinting at.”

Very well. She pointed to the warrior still unconscious on the floor. “I didn’t harm him, either. He left and came back like that.”

Zacharel stood, his robe falling to his feet. He replaced the bottle’s stopper; a moment later, the entire thing vanished.

“How did you do that?” she couldn’t help but ask. What had he done?