Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(85)
Author: Gena Showalter

“We’ll get to that. First, you gotta tell me. Am I going to get in trouble for debauching you?” she asked, then chewed on the end of that pen as she waited for his answer.

A terrible habit, he thought, gently tugging the thing from between her teeth. “Are you sure you debauched me? Because I’m not convinced. Perhaps you should try again.”

The warmth of her laughter filled the room, enchanting him. He wanted her to laugh like that at least a hundred times a day.

“Such a guy thing to say, but no more attempted debauchings tonight. I have to save something for tomorrow.”

That she planned to spend another day with him, that she had just given him something to look forward to, that she truly had forgiven him… If he’d been standing, he would have dropped to his knees, once again humbling himself before her, thankful and grateful. Now he smiled. A genuine smile of delight.

She reached out and traced a fingertip along the curve of his lips. “I love when you smile like this.” Her fingertip moved to his cheek, to the dimple Hadrenial used to flash him. “You’re… Actually, there are no words for what you are. Beautiful isn’t adequate, and exquisite barely scratches the surface.”

Appearance had never meant anything to him. Until now. “Thank you?”

Another laugh bubbled from her, her skin and her face glowing with health and life and vitality. She was the one who defied description. “Yes, that was a compliment. Now, then. The trouble thing.”

“No, you will not get into trouble. Remember, the Deity’s angels have a different purpose than the Most High’s, and are therefore governed by the same set of rules as the humans. Yes, my race was created by the Most High, and given to the Deity, but we are more like you. Not that you will ever hear any of us admit it.”

“Well, all right, then. The pen. I want to play a game with you.” She placed the tip just over his chest, frowned then looked up at him. “Wait. Another question, or a demand really. Tell me about the black spot. It’s bigger than last time—and last time it was big!”

His gaze flicked to the spot in question. Yes, the black was already several inches larger than it had been two days ago. “When my brother died, I saved his essentia. His love.”

“His spirit,” she said. “Or soul?”

“Love is an emotion, yes, but it’s also a power. So I took from his spirit. I took out a piece of mine, as well, so that some part of us would always be together. That removal killed this part of me—” he tapped the spot “—because I did not replace it.”

A dread-filled moment passed as she absorbed his words. “Why is it spreading? And don’t try to redirect me, or shut me down or tell me not to worry like you did last time. I will play a card you don’t want me to play, because yes, I can be devious like that, and then we’ll both feel bad.”

He would not have her feeling bad. “The growth was slow but steady until my Deity punished me with the snow for daring to ignore his orders. Afterward, the growth was fast and steady.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why the growth?”

“It is…death.”

Her jaw dropped, but she snapped it shut. “Put back the piece you removed. Right now! That should stop the spread of death.”

“I cannot. What’s in the urn is a combination of Hadrenial and me. I cannot separate the two. They have already bonded.” Like the demon had bonded to her, he thought, his hands curling into fists.

Her chin went into the air, and he knew her stubborn side was kicking in. “Well, think of it this way. I’m not asking you to separate the two. I’m telling you to use the combination.”

Oh, yes. Stubborn. “I failed to save his life. I even rendered the deathblow. I do not deserve to live off him.”

“You gave him what he wanted. You ended his torment. You deserve—”

“Annabelle—”

“Zacharel. You are far better than you give yourself credit for. How many times have you saved me? What would I have done without you? What will happen to me if you…if you… I can’t even say the word! Do this. Please.”

How could he deny her anything? “I…will think about it,” he said, and he would, but deep down he knew that he would not change his mind. If he did as she wanted, he would forever carry a piece of his brother. Him, a man utterly unworthy of such a blessing.

“Thank you.”

Guilt rose, but he shoved it aside. “Now, will you show me why you have the pen?” he asked, changing the subject.

“My pleasure,” she said with a smile only half the wattage of the others. “Have you ever played tic-tac-toe?”

“I’ve never played anything.”

“Well, then, prepare to be dominated. I’m a master. I win against myself every time we play.”

He snorted.

Hand steady, she began to write on him, treating his chest as if it was a sheet of paper and drawing what seemed to be hundreds of tic-tac-toe boards. He was X’s, she was O’s, and they tied every game.

Well, they tied until she used his nipple as the center O, lancing sensation to a groin he’d expected to be dead for days. He moaned, and that caused her to laugh, and of course, that laughter distracted him. She finally won.

By the time they finished, he was marked up from neck to toe, and so was she. Although he hadn’t drawn boards on her—he’d written his name. And suddenly he understood the appeal of tattoos. He liked his name inked into her flesh and suspected he would like having hers inked into his.

Annabelle formed a circle with her fingers, looking at him through the center as though she was a scientist and her hands a lens. “I want to take a picture of you just…like…this. You’re—” Her eyes darkened to a haunted navy blue, and her hands fell heavily to her sides.

Each of his muscles petrified, but he fought through and cupped the side of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“He removed my clothes and took photos of me.” Her gaze practically seared a hole in Zacharel’s chest.

“Who?” he whispered fiercely, but he already knew the answer. The knowledge that a man had forced his attentions on this lovely woman had irritated him before, even angered and offended him, but now, after everything he and Annabelle had shared, after having his own hands on her, after having her hands on him and learning the beauty of such contact, he was beyond enraged.