Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(37)
Author: Gena Showalter

“We will discuss the terms once we reach our new location,” he said more harshly than he’d intended. “The longer we stay here, the more danger my warrior faces.”

She studied his features for a moment, searching for…what? “All right. We’ll shelve our little negotiation.” Reaching up, she linked her fingers behind his neck.

Always she surprised him. When he expected her to protest, she caved. When he expected her to cave, she fought him. When he expected—

—thoughts derailing…realigning… She was even closer to him now, as if they were two halves of a whole. The very idea heated his blood, making his insides burn and his skin sweat.

Zacharel.

The male voice echoed through his mind, neither a memory nor springing from his own mind. Thane? he asked, instantly concerned.

Yes.

You are well? And the others?

We were not attacked, but we did engage the demons chasing you.

Good. Did you leave one alive?

After the slightest hesitation, he heard, Yes.

As if Zacharel would protest the coming torture, when that was exactly why the demon still lived. Find out who sent the minions. They came to steal Annabelle.

How is she?

Well. But the only way to keep her safe is to hide her. Therefore, I will be hiding with her. Contact me when you have an answer. And, Thane, he added before the soldier ended the connection. Check on Koldo when you have the chance.

Why? What’s wrong?

“Zacharel?” Annabelle said. “I don’t mean to criticize, but you’re just standing there, staring at me.”

“Not you, but I need a moment,” he replied, but the distraction had severed the link. He tried to open it back up, failed. “Moment over.”

“All right.” Though she radiated confusion, she said, “So, um, again, how do you propose we leave this place?”

Concentrating on her, he said, “The same way we left the institution. My question is, will you enjoy this ride as much?”

He misted both their bodies and flew her through the ceiling, then layer after layer of stone-laden dirt. He hated leaving Koldo, but already he’d skirted the edge of acceptable by placing the warrior on the bed.

Whatever his reasons, Koldo—a warrior given to him because he’d beaten his last commander into bloody pulp—had helped him and thereby Annabelle. Zacharel hadn’t thought to ever come to admire the men and women under his leadership, but he couldn’t deny the fissures in his chest were expanding, making room for more than just Annabelle and desire.

They rose above the surface of grass and flowers, towering trees, and into a midmorning sky, the sun half-hidden behind a thick shield of clouds. Birds flew in every direction, their calls shrill yet welcome.

“I’ll never get used to the beauty,” Annabelle gasped, awe and wonder heavy in her tone.

Yes, she was enjoying this ride as much as the other. How would she react to other things free women could do? Things like shopping, and dancing, and dating.

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” she asked.

“I once believed it was, yes, and assumed the beauty would never wilt.”

“We were born into this amazing world, Zacharel. We are meant to protect this land and its people.”

“All I see is the blood of our parents, sprayed over the grass and oceans.”

“They died fighting demons.” Unable to recover from the extensiveness of their wounds. “There is no greater honor than that. How many times have you said those very words to me? So why can you not focus on the purity and innocence shining at us and forget the taint of the past?”

Neither he nor his brother had known the events that would unfold mere weeks after that conversation. Hadrenial’s capture, torture, and after a year of searching, Zacharel’s “rescue” of him. No longer had Hadrenial thought the world a place of splendor and glory to bask in. He’d seen the ugliness, had walked hand in hand with the evil, and he had begun to fear and hate.

“Are you okay?” Annabelle asked. “You tensed up.”

For once, Zacharel wanted to lie. To give voice to the thoughts swimming in his head…would he also erupt? Or worse, cry? He’d told Annabelle about his brother’s death, but not about his reasons for rendering that final blow. If he did, would she erupt and cry? Feminine tears were not something he could handle right now.

“Well? Are you?”

“Shh,” he said. “I must remain focused.” Truth. Otherwise he would do something he would regret.

“Shush me again, I dare you.”

His lips twitched in that way he was coming to expect in her presence. He searched ahead but no demons lurked in the vicinity. Still, he should not risk taking her to a public place. Minions often followed unsuspecting humans. He should take her to a private island in the Pacific, undiscovered and untouched by humans, as planned, but…he changed course.

For over an hour he glided through the vast expanse of blue, going high, then low, then high again, maintaining a constant zigzag impossible for anyone to lock on to.

“Since you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong with you, and I can tell that you’re still bothered by something,” Annabelle said, “why don’t you tell me why you no longer believe in the beauty of the land?”

Clouds of the purest white came into view, each surrounding mountains capped with snow. Fields of green grass, and meadows rich with dewy flowers. Water so blue it seemed to hold a thousand secrets in every ripple. He no longer pictured pieces of his parents strewn across different parts of the world. He no longer imagined the horror of his brother’s last days, but even so…

“A man’s surroundings are often tainted by his memories.”

Her warm sigh caressed his neck. “True. After my trial, my brother sold my parents’ house, as well as everything inside it. He wanted no reminders of the horror I’d caused.”

“But you did not cause that horror.”

“No, but he’ll never believe that.” Her sadness was a live wire, crackling and dangerous.

“Words laced with faith have power, Annabelle, even negative words. If you want him to change his mind, begin to speak and act as if he has.”

“What about his free will? And wouldn’t a claim that he believes me be considered lying?”

“Minds can be changed—of their own free will. And no, you wouldn’t be lying. You speak it, and because words have power, your faith makes it real.”