Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(53)
Author: Gena Showalter

His sun-kissed skin darkened…darkened…taking on a crimson hue. Horns sprouted from his shoulders, his wings morphed into something hideous, a thin membrane wetted with blood, and a tail grew between his legs, a metal spike at its end.

A scream ripped from Annabelle’s throat. She withdrew the blades from their sheaths, and acting on instinct, lunged toward the creature straight from the depths of her nightmares, slashing at him. Horror, betrayal and shock blasted through her, turning her blood into toxic sludge. This thing was a demon, and he’d tricked her. All this time he’d tricked her, even gotten her into bed.

“You disgust me!” she shouted as she went for his throat.

Easily he latched on to her wrists, spun her and pinned her against the hard length of his body. “Calm down and think, Annabelle.”

Despite his grotesque appearance, his voice was the same, was Zacharel’s, and the knowledge caused some of her panic to flee.

“You still feel safe with me,” he continued. “You feel no hum of evil. I haven’t changed; I’ve simply changed your perception of me.”

Still she fought him, desperate to free herself.

He maintained a steady grip. “Calm down,” he repeated. “Think. You’ve seen me change my clothes in a blink. You’ve seen me change the color of my wings just as quickly. It is I, Zacharel, the man who held you in my arms, who kissed and touched you.”

The rest of her panic fled, and realization at last dawned. Her movements slowed…stilled…and she drew in a deep breath…exhaled….

When the demons came, they exuded a rotten scent and a sticky film of evil she couldn’t quite scour from her skin. With Zacharel, there was only that sky-rich fragrance and the warm caress of male flesh. “Why did you…change your…appearance?” Her mind might recognize the truth, but her body was still catching up, breath rasping from her lungs.

“I cannot train you to watch for a tail if I do not have a tail. And do you recall the time I told you it’s possible to overcome fear with action, that how you act is more important than what you feel? I want you to learn to act against a demon even if your heart is pounding and your knees knocking together.”

Okay. Okay, she could do this. “You can let go of me now. I’ll behave.”

“Why start now?” He pushed her enough to make her stumble. She twisted around, facing him, keeping the daggers at her sides. His eyes were still a mesmerizing green, and helped anchor her in reality rather than sinking into the past as that metal-spiked tail clanged back and forth, back and forth.

Her gaze lowered and she watched the thing slither along the ground, unable to help herself. “Did you just make a funny, Zacharel?”

“You tell me.”

Suddenly the tail struck out, winding around her ankle and jerking, but somehow not cutting into her skin. She fell, hard, and glared up at him.

“You should have jumped up immediately and tossed one of your daggers at me,” he said casually. “I could attack you right now, and you would have no defense.”

Uh, she could stab him—because she still had her daggers. He hadn’t been smart enough to take them away, so there. “Well, for starters, you didn’t tell me that I had permission to spill your guts.”

“And a demon will tell you such a thing? Give you such a warning?”

An excellent point. Embarrassed by her weakness and stupidity, she lumbered to her feet and grumbled, “So this is how you teach? Through trial and error?”

“You would not like my other method. Now. This time, when you see that I’m coming at you, act first.”

Got it. She waited, watching as his tail swished…swished…and launched toward her. As instructed, she jumped up, causing the spike to dance through the air. But he had expected her to do so and the tail changed direction, darting back toward her to again wind around her ankles and send her to her bottom.

Dang it! “Just so you know, I’m usually better. The fact that I’m alive should convince you of that.”

“No, the fact that you’re alive convinces me the demons weren’t actually trying to kill you. And just so you know, twice now I’ve killed you,” he said. “In battle, demons will always go for the dirty move. They will strike you from behind, kick you while you’re down, hit you where it hurts most.”

“Okay.” Up she stood. “All demons can suck it, so the next time you come at me, you’re gonna get it.”

“Good.” He offered no more warning than that, striking at her, his tail swiping, missing, swiping again, missing again.

With that final jump, she angled just enough to land on his tail, earning a yelp of pain from him. Grinning, she said, “Even though you’re a horrible teacher, I think I’m gonna like this lesson.”

His lips curled in the barest hint of a smile, a dimple there and gone, before he arced one of those beastly wings at her. Jumping up would do no good this time. The stupid appendage was too wide. She did the only thing she could. She spun low, swiping out with her dagger and cutting through the tissue.

He hissed out a breath and jerked the wing back into his side. Blood dripped down golden feathers—feathers soon replaced by black tissue as he fortified his image. For a moment, Annabelle worried she’d gone too far.

Then Zacharel nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent. I’m not such a horrible teacher, after all.”

“Actually, my instincts got you stabbed, not your majestic tutelage.”

Another hint of a smile. “I will endeavor to do better.”

“You mean I’m the first to complain?”

“No. But yours is one of two complaints I’m willing to heed.”

What a sweet thing to say. But that’s not going to stop me from hurting him during the next round. “And the other came from…?”

“My brother.”

So far, every time he’d mentioned his brother he’d shut down soon afterward. After last night, she hoped he would trust her with details about what had happened. “The brother you…killed?” She wanted to know more about him, this man she had welcomed into her bed.

“Yes.” He said no more, but the sadness in his tone said enough.

At least he hadn’t changed the subject. “Why did you do it?” Before, she’d speculated that it had been an accident. Now that she knew him better, she had big-time doubts. Zacharel was not someone prone to accidents. He was too guarded, too careful. He would have had a reason.