Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(44)
Author: Gena Showalter

She burst into the daylight, tripped over a large rock. A mewl of pain escaped her, but she righted herself and kept going. He caught the scent of her blood and knew she’d skinned her knees.

Squawking birds took flight as she ran, and forest animals skittered away. She splashed through a puddle, then tripped again, over a tree root this time. Her palms took the brunt of the fall, abrading her flesh, and her ankle twisted, but not even that slowed her. Branches slapped at her, cutting her cheeks. Leaves stuck in her hair.

Soon she would tire. He would let her race wherever she desired until then. When she had nothing left, he would swoop in. She would have to pay attention to him as he did everything in his power to convince her of his remorse, to reassure her that nothing like this would ever happen again.

Though he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done wrong. She had enjoyed his kisses and his touch. Yes?

“Just like them,” she sobbed, rubbing, rubbing, still rubbing at her chest. “Why’d he have to be just like them? I told him to slow down, but he wouldn’t and now I… Now I…”

With her words, understanding dawned. After everything she had endured in the institution, he had pushed her for too much, too fast. He had destroyed her clothing, as the ones who had forced her had probably done. He had not heeded her protests, but had tried to take what he desired.

She was right—he was just like them. Was there a way to fix this? A way to convince her that he wasn’t the monster she now considered him? In the past, when someone wronged him to such a degree, Zacharel had never been the type to forgive and forget.

She is not like you. She is softer, better.

And wasn’t that ironic? He was the angel, she the human, and yet he was the one in need of pardon.

A cackle of evil laughter sounded up ahead, snaring his interest. Dread and anger consumed him in a single heartbeat. Zacharel quickened his speed, moving in front of Annabelle. She had been found. But where were—then he spotted them. A horde of demons waited up ahead in trees, behind trunks and atop boulders, laughing gleefully and clearly intending to ambush her.

That quickly, they’d found her, and Zacharel would have to deal with them—but now Annabelle wouldn’t trust him any more than she would trust the demons. She might even fight him as he fought them.

If he got her out of this alive, it would be a miracle.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?” Thane had only just flown himself into Koldo’s underground home in Half Moon Bay when he spied the warrior laid out on the bed, his head shaved and his back slashed to ribbons.

Eyelashes crusted together with specks of blood broke apart, and dark, glassy eyes struggled to focus on him. “Water of Life” was the grumbled response.

Should have guessed. Only once had Thane beseeched the Heavenly High Council for permission to approach the river. They had demanded he first live as a mortal, among the humans, for a month. He hadn’t needed to consider his answer. He had refused, and so his request had been denied. To be mortal was to be helpless, and nothing was worth that.

He crossed his arms over his chest, saying, “They took your hair.” An obvious statement, but his shock was unparalleled.

“Yes.”

“And you let them.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Koldo closed his eyes. “Why are you here, warrior?”

Thane wasn’t surprised by the evasion. Koldo wasn’t one to share his problems. None of them were. But he was surprised by the ease with which Koldo was speaking to him. Normally he couldn’t get more than a brusque “yes” or “no” from the angel. “Zacharel commanded me to come.”

“You just missed him. He was here with the girl.”

Another surprising fact. Zacharel was willingly carting a human female around the world. Thane could only wonder what would happen next. “They were well?”

“Yes,” Koldo said again, though this time he hesitated over the word. “He wanted her with him, within his sight. He did not like the fact that I had touched her, even innocently.”

Such a long string of words. The pain must have abolished his inhibitions.

But that couldn’t overshadow what he’d said. Zacharel was possessive and jealous, when he’d never displayed the slightest emotion before.

What other human emotions would their leader unleash? Especially when he lost the girl. And he would lose her. Mortals were delicate, easily crushed; angels were not.

“Where are your boys?” Koldo asked. “They’re usually not far behind you.”

“Bjorn is hunting Jamila. She left Zacharel’s cloud a few nights ago and hasn’t been seen since. Xerxes is examining the remains of a demon horde found under that very cloud.”

“And you are hunting Zacharel to heed his command.”

“Not exactly.” He had spoken inside Zacharel’s mind, as Zacharel had spoken inside his. He could do so again, could ask where Zacharel was and if he was okay or needed help, but he wouldn’t. That kind of connection to anyone but Bjorn and Xerxes disturbed him as he suspected it disturbed Zacharel. “Did he say where he was going? Or what his plans were?”

“If he did, I was too busy being unconscious to notice.”

Thane couldn’t help himself; he grinned. Humor, from the ever-serious Koldo was as baffling as Zacharel’s new obsession with the girl. And it moved Thane to do something he knew he shouldn’t.

He strode to the kitchen and placed on the counter all the items necessary for making a sandwich. He should be tracking another demon to torture. Unfortunately, the one he’d captured had not given any details, no matter what he’d done, had just stoically borne the pain. He should be alerting the other members of the army to these new developments. But he wanted to ease Koldo somehow, someway.

“You can’t feed me,” Koldo said from the bed.

No, he couldn’t, as much as he wished otherwise. Anyone who did would be forced to bear the very pain they’d hoped to assuage—for the rest of eternity. “I’m hungry and in need of a snack. If you want what I leave behind, that’s up to you.” As he was learning, there was always a way around a rule.

Thane bit into the turkey-and-cheese as he strode back to the bed. He took another bite, and then another, before placing what was left of the sandwich on the nightstand. Then he returned to the kitchen and filled a glass with orange juice. He drained half the contents before the glass, too, found a new home on the nightstand.