Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(71)
Author: Gena Showalter

“So?” His jaw held the faintest trace of a beard, and his eyes were red-rimmed, lines of tension branching from them. Not from lack of sleep, either. The scent of alcohol and…Zacharel sniffed…heroin seeped from his pores. Wonderful. He was a drug addict, his memory probably tainted.

Didn’t matter. Zacharel had to try. “So you will let me in, and we will discuss your sister.”

A terrible stillness came over the man. His reaction to the ring of truth in Zacharel’s tone, perhaps. Next, a terrible mix of emotion detonated inside those golden eyes, and he snarled, “I don’t have a sister!” He attempted to slam the door in Zacharel’s face, but Zacharel shoved his foot between the door and its frame.

“We gave your way a try,” he said to Annabelle. “Now it’s time for my way.” He flattened his palm on Brax’s chest and pushed. Just a little push, but the man flew backward and slammed into the foyer wall.

Zacharel shouldered through the door, kicking the thing shut after dragging Annabelle in with him. As the addict jumped to his feet, intending to launch himself into an attack, Zacharel removed the air hiding Annabelle from view.

Brax caught himself, stumbled forward, then back. For a moment, he could only stutter over the words Annabelle and institution and here.

“Surprise. I’m out,” she said, unmistakably dejected.

“Believe,” Zacharel snapped at her.

She gulped, nodded. “And I’m happy to see you. One day, you’ll be happy to see me.”

Her brother gathered his wits, squared his shoulders. “What are you doing here? Your escape has been all over the news, but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come to me.”

In a blink, Zacharel had a hand wrapped around Brax’s throat and his body pinned against the wall, his legs dangling. Until her faith was made manifest, he would have to ensure Brax behaved himself. “You will watch the way you speak to her, or you will suffer.”

A soft hand on his shoulder, a beseeching voice in his ear. “Zacharel. Let him down, please. Despite everything, I love him the way you love Hadrenial. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

Golden eyes widened, bulged, really, as Zacharel increased the pressure. “Just a little longer. He disrespected you.”

“Think about what he’s been through, though. He saw the bodies in our garage, he saw the blood. Then he had to relive it when the police showed him pictures of the crime scene. He thinks I’m responsible.”

Brax’s lips were turning blue. Still Zacharel held on.

“All right, how about this?” she said. “We have questions and he might have answers. Remember? And if you kill him, my faith won’t have a chance to change things.”

“Oh, very well.” Zacharel opened his fingers, causing the man to collapse onto the tiled floor.

“I won’t…help you…escape,” Brax said between gasps for air.

Her chin lifted, making her the picture of stubbornness he remembered from so early in their relationship. “I don’t need your help.”

Brax released a bitter laugh, and climbed to his feet. “Are you here to again tell me that monsters slaughtered Mom and Dad, then?”

Her chin lifted higher. “Not monsters, plural. Monster, singular. But, no. All I want to know is what you did the few days leading up to their murder. Anything unusual, like visiting a psychic or playing with a Ouija board?”

He scowled at her. “I don’t care what your friend does to me. You’re crazier than I suspected if you think I’ll talk to you about this.”

“You were warned,” Zacharel said before Annabelle had time to react. He smiled, but it was not the kind smile Annabelle could wring from him. It was the cruelest of all. His wings flared from his back as he grabbed Brax by the waist. “You don’t care what I do to you? Well, let’s see if I can change your mind.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BETWEEN ONE BLINK and the next, Zacharel and Brax vanished.

Annabelle waited, and waited, but neither male reappeared. Worry ate at her, because she knew they’d be back, eventually—she just didn’t know if her brother would be dead or alive, and she wanted him alive. He would crave a relationship with her, as Zacharel had promised. He just would.

She’d missed him so much. Despite his current feelings toward her, he was still her big brother, the one who had rubbed the top of her head with his knuckles until she cried about the burn, the one who had tickled her until she’d laughed so hard she’d actually peed a little, and the one who had hugged her anytime someone had hurt her feelings.

Today, at her first glance at him, she’d wanted to cry. Not from homesickness, though she’d experienced that in full force, but from sadness. After all this time, it seemed the happy-go-lucky boy had grown into a tormented man.

He was two years older than Annabelle, and she’d always looked up to him, admired him. In high school, all the girls had wanted to date him, and all the boys had wanted to be him. He’d never been without plans, everyone hoping to hang out with him. On multiple occasions, he’d gotten into trouble for sneaking out. Twice he’d wrecked his car. Then he’d gone to college and seemed to calm down, get serious.

Now… He was like a shell of his former self.

Annabelle wandered through the house, a rustic two-story made of natural stone and timber, with a breathtaking view of the mountains from the backyard. First thing she noticed was the fact that he was a slob. Clothes, empty food wrappers and beer bottles littered the floor and tabletop surfaces. He owned very few knickknacks, and had zero pictures of her or their parents.

No, wait. He had a picture of their parents, resting facedown on the nightstand beside his queen-size bed. Why facedown? And oh, seeing her parents smiling up at her when she righted the frame caused her chest to constrict and tears to well in her eyes.

What do you want to be when you grow up, Annabelle? Her mother’s soft voice whispered through her mind.

She closed her eyes, imagined equally soft fingers smoothing hair from her face, then tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. I can’t decide. I want to travel the world. I want to help people. I want to wear beautiful gowns, and eat amazing food and host the best parties.

A warm laugh caressed the air between them. That’s a lot of wants. I’m thinking…a flight attendant who marries a prince?

Annabelle swallowed back her sobs and forced herself to walk away. The master bathroom was open, and she stepped inside only to stop short. An empty syringe, a spoon, a lighter, a rubber band, plastic bag with several small, brown-colored balls of…a drug, for sure, but which drug, she didn’t know.