Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(38)
Author: Gena Showalter

“But I don’t have any faith in this matter.”

“You do, but it’s small. You see, faith is measurable. It builds as you think about and meditate on a spiritual truth. And do not shake your head at me. What I say is true. There are natural laws, like gravity, and there are spiritual laws, like this one. You can have what you say if you believe that you have it before you actually see that you have it. That is faith.”

She thought about that for a moment. “All right, so he wants to reconnect with me.”

“Good. Keep saying that. Keep thinking that. Any time a thought contrary to what you just spoke tries to enter your mind, force it to leave. One day, you’ll actually believe it spirit, soul and body.”

“And just like that he’ll seek a relationship with me?”

“Just like that you’ll release a spiritual power unlike anything you’ve ever known.” He only wished he had applied these truths to his own life. But faith-filled confessions could take time, and if a man lacked patience, he could ruin everything.

“All right. Okay. I’ll think and meditate on this stuff.” She rested her head on his shoulder. So much time passed he figured she had acted on her promise and fallen asleep. Until she said, “So where are we?”

“New Zealand.” At the base of one of the mountains was the entrance to Thane’s cave. Most angels kept homes all over the world, because a warrior never knew where he would end up when hunting a particular demon, or when he would be injured and require rest. Like so many others, Thane had chosen a place where he was guaranteed as little human interaction as possible.

Zacharel would take her there. Later.

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” she said.

“And now you are doing so in style.”

A warm chuckle left her, a sound that threatened to overwhelm his senses with pleasure. “I can’t deny that.”

He bypassed the cave and sped past Whangaparaoa Bay and into Auckland. There, he landed in an abandoned alley. He hated to release his passenger, but forced himself to do so.

With a single mental command, he turned both of their robes into a shirt and pair of pants, both black.

“How did you do that?” she asked, plucking at the fabric at her waist. “And how is the material so soft?”

He wanted her fingers on him, on his skin. Soon. “That was nothing, and I was able to do it because the robes are under my command, just like the cloud.” As he spoke, he hid his wings inside an air pocket.

Expression baffled, as though she couldn’t quite convince herself to believe what she was seeing—or not seeing—she reached out, paused and bit her lip. “May I?”

Her fingers on his wings…even better. His throat was suddenly too tight to speak, so he nodded, forced his wings to come to the edge of the pocket, so that they would be solid to her.

Contact. Buttery soft fingertips caressed the arch of one, then the other, sending electric currents racing through the rest of him. “Still there,” she said, clearly awed.

For her, but only her.

She stroked him for a moment more, nearly wringing groans of pleasure from him, before she pulled away. “So what are we doing here, like this?”

He mourned the loss of her. “We are shopping for supplies. Clothes, shoes and whatever else you will need in the coming days.”

Her hand fluttered over her heart. “Did you just say the word shopping without flinching?”

“I did. So?”

“So, that’s gotta be a record. It’s a worldwide fact that men hate shopping.”

“How can I hate it when I’ve never done it?”

Her lips curled into a slow, beautiful smile. “If you weren’t already an angel, I’d dub you a saint. Poor guy. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

* * *

ANNABELLE HAD THE TIME of her life.

The buildings were as beautiful as the surrounding mountains, light, with lots of glass and shiny signs. The water was as blue as the sky, one blending into the other, the clouds above a replica of the sailboats below. But it was the archways and columns along the streets, and people headed in every direction, that consumed her attention.

Once, she’d taken this kind of thing for granted. For years, when she’d wanted to shop, her parents had whisked her to the mall. She had tried on outfits, and they had critiqued them. Those “critiques” had always consisted of praise.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful, sweetheart.”

“All the boys will go crazy for you, baby.”

“You’ve definitely inherited your mother’s style, honey.”

Annabelle blinked away a fresh spring of tears. When she was older, she and her friends had spent many weekends shopping for dresses and jeans and T-shirts and shoes, afterward drinking lattes, gossiping and laughing as they admired all the boys.

A wave of homesickness swept over her, followed by sorrow for what she’d missed these past few years, then determination. She was free now. She would not let what could have been—what should have been—taint this time with Zacharel. Look what had happened with him. He’d allowed the past to taint him, and could no longer enjoy the beauty of the land.

Besides, Zacharel hadn’t done this kind of thing before. She had to be at her best so that he wouldn’t decide to off himself just to end the experience, the way her friend’s boyfriends had often threatened to do.

“You are not enjoying yourself?” Zacharel demanded.

“I am, I promise.”

He nodded, though he did not appear convinced.

“I’ll prove it!” And so began the shopping spree to end all shopping sprees. At first, as she flipped through rack after rack, she wasn’t sure people could see Zacharel, even in his altered state. Then she noticed the way women stared at him, no matter their age, their mouths agape.

That’s right. He’s with me. She was feeling pretty good about herself, in fact…until she noticed the way men kept their distance from her, even salesmen. But…but…why? It wasn’t like a Wanted poster hung on every wall. Right?

She glanced at Zacharel. He was glaring at a man a few rows over—a man now backing up, leaving the store.

O-kay, so, problem solved. But she couldn’t really castigate him. He was more than a bodyguard; he was an ATM. Whenever she found something she wanted, a T-shirt, a pair of pants, boots, a purse, it didn’t matter, Zacharel suddenly had cash.

“Are you miserable yet?” she asked him as he hid her purchases the same way he’d hidden his wings.