Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(56)
Author: Gena Showalter

He pressed his shoulder into hers, maneuvering her into a darkened alley. The odor of urine and brine wafted through the air. He could have flown straight to the club’s door, but he wanted Burden to know he was on his way. The demon’s spies would spot him—in fact, he’d seen three minions in the past five minutes, peeking from around the corners of buildings before crawling up the sides and scampering away.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A human teenager stepped from the shadows. He was in the process of zipping his pants, and Zacharel could guess he’d been using one of the buildings as a toilet. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. “A hot little Chinese babe and a nuisance who better run if he wants to continue breathing.”

“I’m not Chinese,” Annabelle snapped.

“Whatever. You’re hot, and that’s all that matters.” Two other teens stepped from the shadows and lined up beside him.

None were demon possessed, but all three were stupid. Zacharel was double their size, but because they had weapons—two had knives, he discerned, the silver tips gleaming in the moonlight, and one, the leader, had a gun—they considered themselves invincible.

“What’ve you got on under that dress, huh?”

“Be a good girl and give us a peek.”

Oh, yes. They were stupid.

Zacharel felt the pulse of Annabelle’s fear before she beat it back, determination taking its place.

“You are making me angry,” he said, “and you do not want to make me angry.”

All three boys snickered.

“Why? Because you’ll turn into a hulking green beast?” one taunted.

More snickers abounded.

“Why don’t you beat it, before we beat you?” the leader said.

Another added, “You can have your girl back when we’re done with her,” before laughing. “Promise.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have said that,” Annabelle said far more calmly than he would have guessed possible. To him, she added, “Teach them a little, tiny lesson, Zacharel. Please.”

“Whatever you desire.” Zacharel tugged Annabelle in front of him and wrapped his arms around her to protect her from what was about to happen. He unleashed his wings from the pocket of air and in seconds was able to create a mighty wind. Each boy soon found himself facedown on the dirty ground.

They struggled to rise, but the wind pinned them in place. He could have snapped their necks before they’d ever realized he’d moved. He could have ripped open their chests and spilled their guts. In fact, he just might. He could always revive them before death staked its claim, saving himself from a whipping—or worse.

He flapped his wings harder, faster, and the wind increased in velocity, the whistle of it masking the ensuing cries of pain. The pressure was building, Zacharel knew, about to crack bone and splatter organs.

But murdering a human isn’t necessary. That would make you no better than, well, Fitzpervert. He hurt me just because he could. Annabelle’s words came back to haunt him. Why don’t the demons possess your Deity’s angels? You guys seem to have as many faults as we do.

No. He would not do this. He would not destroy these boys just because he could, and he would not give way to the urge to commit violent acts. That would be a fault.

Annabelle wrapped her fingers around his wrists and squeezed. “Okay, enough. You’ll get in trouble, and I kinda need you tonight. And really, your well-being is more important than giving these boys what they deserve.”

“Was already stopping,” he admitted, stilling his wings and easing the pressure.

The boys remained on the ground, sobbing.

“Do you have anything to say to her?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, man. Real sorry.” Snot ran down the speaker’s nose.

“Won’t do it again, swear.”

“Please, just let us go. I’ll pay you. I’ve got money.”

“Enough!” Zacharel forced the boys to their feet. First they flinched, then they wobbled. “You will march straight to the nearest police station and confess your crimes. Fail to do so, and I will come back for you.”

As much as Annabelle had doubted him lately, he halfway expected the boys to do the same. However, they reacted to the ring of truth the way he was used to, their eyes glazing over, their heads nodding. No need to flash the visage of a hulking green beast, then.

“Why are you still here?” he snarled. “Go!”

They raced away from him.

Annabelle patted him on the shoulder. “Good job, Z. Really impressive work there.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Not this time, Winged Wonder.”

He faced her and grinned. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

This woman managed to amuse him no matter the situation, and that, more than anything, revealed the depths of his attraction to her. And he wasn’t afraid of such an admission, not this time. He was becoming used to his feelings for her.

“You know, you’re pretty when you smile,” she said, patting the side of his cheek.

“Fierce, woman. I am fierce.”

“If you say so.”

He dragged her the rest of the way through the alley, pleased when she offered no protest. At the end, he turned right, hustled down another alley then turned left, and no one else tried to stop him. Finally the entrance to the club came into view.

Two demon-possessed bouncers stood sentry, a line of humans winding down the street and hoping to get in. Hard rock pumped through the seam in the doors, though there was an underlying beat of sensuality. One he might not have recognized before Annabelle. Now he knew how smoothly two bodies could move to such a rhythm, grinding when they met before parting, already eager for more.

The males gulped when they spotted him and quickly moved aside, allowing Zacharel to stride past without incident. He shouldered the doors apart.

“Baby’s got street cred,” Annabelle muttered, whatever that meant, as someone in the crowd shouted, “Hey! How’d they get in so easily when—” The doors whooshed closed, cutting off the rest of the complaint.

A waitress glided past, a tray of drinks in her hand. Males and females writhed together on the dance floor, just as he’d imagined, mouths seeking, hands roaming. Atop the shoulders of several of the men and women were minions. Most were small, monkeylike creatures, with dark brown fur and long swinging tails.

“Can you see the demons sitting on their shoulders, whispering into their ears?” he asked Annabelle. “Influencing their thoughts and actions, trying to create a stronghold?”