Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(73)
Author: Gena Showalter

“I know that, too.” He eased her down onto something cold and flat. A bed, she realized, blinking open her eyes. She was in a motel room, her brother seated on the bed across from hers.

Though her vision clouded more with every second that passed, she could see that his eyes were swollen from tears, his cheeks were scratched and bleeding, and he was shaking uncontrollably. She tried to sit up, but Zacharel held her down.

“What happened to him?” she managed to get out.

“I showed him that monsters do, in fact, exist.”

“And the b-bastard dropped me o-out of the s-sky,” Brax said through his shudders. “T-twice.”

Zacharel ripped her soaked T-shirt from her body with a single tug of his hands, then slid her bra straps aside more gently. How they’d managed to remain intact, she might never know.

“You’ll notice I caught him twice, too.” With barely a breath, her angel added, “The bullets went all the way through.”

That was a good thing, she hoped.

Brax rubbed at his shoulders, as if in sympathy. “Wh-who shot you?”

“Your girlfriend,” she said, a wave of cold blasting her, beginning where the wounds originated, then spreading through the rest of her, making her shiver, keeping her awake.

“Driana?”

“Do you have another girlfriend?” Zacharel snapped. A long while passed in silence while he stared down at her, his eyes bright with determination.

“But she would never… She’s…” Shock increased Brax’s trembling. “Is she okay?”

Don’t tell him. Stay silent. “I’m sorry, but she’s dead.” He deserved to know. “I shot her.”

He peered at her with growing horror. “What kind of monster are you? Wait. I remember. You’re the Butcher of Colorado.”

Zacharel was at the other bed, backhanding Brax and nearly dislocating his jaw before Annabelle could blink. “Your woman was demon possessed and tried to kill your sister. Annabelle was protecting herself.”

A fresh bout of tears streaked down Brax’s cheeks. “N-no. I refuse to b-believe that. She couldn’t have been demon possessed, she just couldn’t! She hasn’t been herself lately, but…but…” The force of his sobs had him curling into himself. And finally, blessedly, the ring of truth struck his core and he accepted what Zacharel had said. “I’m…sorry, Annabelle. If she had been herself, she would never have tried to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said as Zacharel returned to her side.

“Are you okay?” Brax asked.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. She hoped. She ached, oh, did she ache, her muscles throbbing, her bones creaking, but she kept her features relaxed. “I’ve healed from worse, right, Zacharel?”

The angel nodded. “I’ll make sure you heal this time, too.” Jaw clenched, he withdrew a clear vial from the air. The Water of Life. “Open.”

“No, I—”

With one hand under her neck, lifting her head, and the other tipping the vial back, he ensured a droplet hit her tongue before she could finish her protest. Cool, crisp, the clean flavor slid down her throat, into her stomach, and torpedoed through the rest of her. As new cells were created, as muscle and tissue wove back together, her pain magnified, chill replaced by heat.

But then, a few minutes later—an eternity, surely—strength replaced her weakness, and most of the pain dulled, leaving her in a breathless heap atop the bed.

No, not true. Her pain hadn’t dulled but had simply relocated. Her chest, just above her heart, began to burn, burn unbearably, and only getting worse.

“What’s wrong with her now?” Brax asked.

A frowning Zacharel ignored him, saying to Annabelle, “You are still hurting?”

“Yes.” She rubbed at her chest, reminded herself to breathe in, breathe out and concentrate on something besides her body. But that was easier said than done, because oh, no, no, no, she felt as if she were actually on fire from the inside out. “Help,” she squeaked.

Strong hands pinned her arms against the mattress before smoothing over her chest. Zacharel rubbed gentle circles at first, creating friction, then increased the fervency of his strokes. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

“Trying.”

“In. Out. In. Go get some ice,” he shouted.

“Can’t.”

“Not you. You continue breathing. Out. In. Good girl.”

She must have blacked out at some point, because the next thing she knew, she lay in a cool puddle of water, her chest on the road to normal. She was able to breathe easily and without prompting.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you, but listen up.” She ran her fingers over her sternum, the skin frozen and wet. “I don’t want any more of that water. I would have eventually healed from the gunshot on my own, and I can’t tolerate that burning again.”

“Your pain has now eased completely. I do not consider that a waste.”

“Well, you aren’t the one who just got back from hell.”

“You are alive, aren’t you?”

She blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re arguing with me now?”

“What should I be doing?”

“Fawning, you turd.”

He flashed the quickest of grins. “Chalk it up to a rookie mistake.” He pulled a T-shirt out of the air, and helped her dress. He motioned to her brother. “Tell her what you told me.”

Her gaze strayed to Brax. He watched her and Zacharel with horror, as if only then realizing how close they were. His shivers had slowed, at least. “You healed.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Tell her.” A harsh command that would meet with harsh reprisal if ignored a second time.

“After you tell me why you didn’t heal Driana.”

Zacharel’s hands curled into fists. “The water cannot bring back the dead. Now talk.”

Brax gulped. “I came home for your birthday. You, Mom and Dad went to dinner and the movies to celebrate a little early because you were going to be with friends on the actual day, and I said I wasn’t feeling well. While you were out, a friend of mine from high school came over. He brought a book and…a joint with him. I hadn’t gotten high in so long, and I felt like total crap, so…”

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “What’s the name of the book?”