Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(63)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Who else?”

His brother. Burden had dared, suggesting he had been there when Hadrenial was tortured. You knew better than to engage a demon in such a way. And now, all he could think about was the fact that it was possible. Hadrenial had never voiced the names of his tormentors.

Fury fanned to new life in his chest. How easy it would be to sink a blade into that vulnerable human throat. The body would die, Burden would be freed, captured and returned to hell—or killed. Maybe that’s what Burden wanted, though. To prick at Zacharel until he reacted violently, allowing the demon to take his secrets with him.

He looked to Amun. His ability to uncover the truth was one of the reasons Zacharel had specifically requested the warrior’s presence here. Oh, Zacharel could taste a lie, but this way, he wouldn’t have to bother with an interrogation, wouldn’t have to risk upsetting the Deity. Amun could simply dig inside the demon’s mind and find his secrets.

His thoughts are a jumbled mess, Amun signed. A mix of the human’s and his own.

“I need to know where he’s keeping Jamila, a soldier of mine. I also need to know who he’s working for,” Zacharel said. “Someone told him to hunt and torture Annabelle, and I want to know who that someone is.”

He’s been thinking about the angel, Jamila, quite a bit. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, angel, but she’s already dead.

Though he tasted the truth, Zacharel fought it. Ten minutes ago, he showed us video feed of her. Alive.

The feed was recorded earlier. Amun patted him on the shoulder. I’m truly sorry, but they’ve already killed her. Her injuries were just too severe to recover from.

For a moment, his heart felt like a hammer against his ribs rather than the organ responsible for his life. He tried to comfort himself with knowledge that Jamila’s suffering was over, but that didn’t help. She was dead, gone, because he had failed to protect her.

The shame and guilt he felt…they were worse than having bullets in his chest, skin, muscle and bone ravaged. The Deity would penalize him, of course, and he would accept without protest. Whatever was meted out, he deserved.

I will probe his mind about the other, his leader, Amun signed, but it might take me some time.

Time was the only thing Zacharel didn’t have. Frustration joined the collage of emotions clawing at him. “Do whatever it takes—anything short of death. And when you find out, have Lucien track me down.”

“Meanwhile,” Haidee said, stepping forward. Beads of ice welled from her pores, turning her into a living sculpture. “I’ll be helping my man out, don’t you worry.”

“Wh-what is she?” Burden stuttered with sudden horror.

“She’s exactly what you deserve,” Zacharel gritted out. Haidee could freeze a demon to its core, and for beings who lived among the flames of hell, that was not a pleasant sensation. Burden’s screams would echo for days to come.

Or not.

When he opened his mouth to release his first, Haidee traced her fingertip across the edges of his lips. The ice spread from one ear to the other, silencing him. Any other time, Zacharel would have stayed to watch. This time, he dismissed his men and said to Amun, “If ever you or your brothers wish to be free of your demons, come and see me. I’ve learned how I can help.”

With that, he strode away to collect his woman.

There was one more place they could go for answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THANE AND HIS BOYS SPENT the rest of the day searching for Jamila’s spirit, and when that proved unfruitful, hunting for the prison where her body had been kept, determined to burn it to the ground. But Burden had hidden it well, for they found no sign of the building in the heavens or on earth.

The need to save what was left of her rode Thane hard, as did fury and a feeling of helplessness. Every minute spent in a demon’s care damaged your spirit, soul and body, and he hated that Jamila had died without a single ray of hope.

He hadn’t worked with her long, but he had liked her, and had admired her strength. Had she lived to be freed, the experience would have changed her and not for the better, but he could find no solace in that.

Zacharel blamed the high lord pulling Burden’s strings, and was on his way to speak with someone who might know exactly who that high lord was. For now, there was nothing else Thane could do. He needed a distraction.

He needed a new lover.

He prowled The Downfall’s main room. He saw warriors and joy-bringers mingling, drinking and laughing. Not everything was fun and games, though. In shadowed corners, vampires drank from willing victims. A few Harpies occupied spots at the bar. A Phoenix shifter who resembled the one he’d already had gyrated on the dance floor, even crooked her finger at him, but he ignored her. His Phoenix hadn’t recovered from their passions yet, and he would have her rather than one of her kin. If he took another, he would not be allowed to touch the first, no matter how much he paid.

The Phoenix were that possessive—and that selfish with others of their race—so until she was ready for him, he would try another type of creature.

Several other females summoned him over, but he ignored them, too. Tonight he wanted someone who would overwhelm his senses and make him forget his failures of the day. He wanted something different from the others he’d had.

He found that someone locked in a conversation with a male siren. Thane closed the distance and simply towered beside their table, waiting to be noticed. Only took a few seconds for the male to glance up.

“Excuse— Oh, Thane,” the siren said, his voice as lovely as a symphony. “Is something wrong?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s taken for the evening. You may find someone else.”

“But—” Again the siren caught himself. He glanced behind Thane to the guards leaving their posts at the walls to flank his sides. Even if the male knew Thane could not kill him without consequences, the same could not be said about the guards.

“You’re right. I will.”

The chair squeaked over the tiled floor as the siren straightened and moved away, careful not to brush against Thane.

Thane easily slid into place.

Cario, a woman of questionable origins who had frequented his club quite often lately, glared over at him. Thane kept tabs on all the regulars.

“I liked him,” she said.

When she had always left the club on her own? “He never stood a chance with you and you know it.”

Rather than melt under the charm of his voice, she scowled at him. “You can’t know that.”