Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark) Page 17

  Her response boded ill, and he frowned. Did she find fault with the instruments—or him? “First, I would never use those things on you or ask you to use them on me. Second, I ask only that you willingly give yourself to me.”

  For a long while, she merely gaped at him. Then she gave him a once-over and gulped. Then she shook her head violently, that tumble of dark, gorgeous hair slapping at her cheeks. “If you demand my body as payment, then the sex will not be consensual, no matter how compliant I seem to be. I won’t actually be giving myself to you. Rather, you’ll be forcing yourself on me. Just like Fitzpervert!”

  Anger burst from his bones, filling every part of him. “I am nothing like him.” If Zacharel was to drown in need for her, he would be damned if he would not pull her down with him. “Do you desire me?” he demanded.

  She licked her lips, gulped again. “I’m attracted to you, yes.”

  That eased the hottest threads of his emotion. “As I am…attracted to you.” Attracted. Such a mild word for the cravings constantly bombarding him. “So what is the problem?”

  For a moment her anger far surpassed his own, blazing from her with all the heat of the sun. “I won’t be forced to do anything ever again. I won’t have my hands tied—literally or figuratively.”

  He realized his mistake and nearly cursed. He should not have brought her to a place like this, even if it suited his own purposes, and he should not have tried to push the issue. He should have allowed things to progress naturally.

  But…lacking as he was in this area, he knew nothing about “naturally.”

  “I told you. I am not like the doctor. I am not like other men you have known. Why would I save you only to hurt you? But very well, if you cannot trust me, we will bargain. I told you I knew how.”

  That mollified her somewhat. “Very well. I’m listening.”

  “I will stay with you for a month,” and far longer, he added silently, if he hadn’t yet assuaged his curiosity. Because just then, he realized he wanted more than once. He wanted all that she had to offer. Wanted to experience everything with her. Only then would he let her go. “If you will vow to kiss me whenever the urge strikes you.” Surely the rest would spring from there.

  “But the girl…the one who kissed you without permission…”

  “The situation with you is not the same. You have my permission. You have an open invitation.” His tone of voice deepened, became raspier, every syllable layered with his hunger.

  “Because you’re attracted to me,” she reiterated brokenly, toying with the ends of her hair.

  “Yes.”

  “But what if I never want to kiss you?”

  “Then you will not.” But she would want to; he would make sure of it.

  She looked down, then up at him, down, up. Those expressive eyes revealed a mix of trepidation and hope and…something white-hot. “Yes. I agree to your terms.”

  * * *

  AGREEING HAD SEEMED LIKE SUCH a good idea, but now, a few hours after their bargain had been struck, Annabelle was ablaze with nervous energy. Would she have the courage to follow through? Wouldn’t she?

  It was all she’d been able to think about.

  “You look hot,” Zacharel said. He puttered around the kitchen, fixing her a sandwich.

  She knew he didn’t mean the word hot as anyone else would have. “I am.” The robe that had fitted itself to her body, becoming a T-shirt and pants, had returned to its shapeless form just before she and Zacharel had flown here, swathing her from neck to toes. “I could use a shower. Alone.”

  “A robe cleans its wearer from the inside out. Right now you are cleaner than you have ever been.”

  “Oh. That’s cool.” And that response was lame. She had to pull herself together. “I mean, I noticed its cleaning ability when you were injured.” I just didn’t put two and two together.

  “Perhaps you should change into your new clothes.”

  “I think I will.” Just not the way he probably thought.

  He’d set the bags at the entrance. She dug through each one until she found what she wanted. Then, the same way she had stripped out of her leather, with the robe shielding her, she now dressed.

  “Unfair,” she thought she heard Zacharel mutter.

  Only when her new bra and panties, T-shirt, jeans and boots were in place—and she had successfully cut through the pockets for easy access to the blades still strapped to her legs—did she finally remove the robe.

  Zacharel’s gaze roved over her from top to bottom—then back up again. “I approve. And now you will eat.” He carried a plate to the small wooden table, sat down and motioned for her to join him.

  “And we will talk,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  She’d meant to continue their bargaining, but he began to grill her for information—and she couldn’t help but grill him right back. Why a cave? Why the sex toys? The answer to the first: because. The answer to the second: because.

  So informative, her angel.

  She shifted uncomfortably. Neither of their chairs possessed a back, and while she felt like she would fall backward every time she moved, he was perfectly at ease, the lack of slats allowing him to comfortably position his wings.

  “The demon that killed your parents,” he said, motioning for her to take another bite out of the most delicious sandwich she’d ever eaten. Soft, moist and bursting with sweet and spicy flavors. “What did he look like?”

  “What if I said ugly, and left it at that?” Two could play the reticent game.

  “I would press.”

  “Thought so.” She chewed, swallowed, trying not to picture the beast that had haunted her nightmares all these years. With only the slightest quaver in her tone, she described the red eyes, the humanoid face and the vampire fangs. The smooth, crimson skin, the horns that protruded from his spine. The tail that had curled into a metal spike.

  All the while Zacharel frowned. See? His default expression.

  “That could be any number of demons, but definitely not the one who dictated which demons could and could not enter your institution. Still, we will find Burden, talk to him.”

  Burden. What a terrible name. “He’ll be honest with you?”

  “With a little persuasion, perhaps. But sometimes you can discern the truth by breaking apart the lie.”

  “As long as you’re sure. And just so you know, I can handle danger. Don’t even think about leaving me behind.”

  His eyes narrowed, though that failed to hide the green flames sparking to shattering life. “I could absolutely leave you behind, Annabelle, and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”

  “I could hate you,” she seethed. “Well, not hate you, since I now refuse to hate anyone, but I could be very angry with you!”

  “And you think that would bother me?” Such a calmly uttered question, as if he didn’t care about the answer.

  But he did care, and there was no hiding that fact. Not any longer. He wanted her body, had tried to demand it as payment, and when she’d said no, he’d decided to settle for her kisses.

  I don’t have to be nervous about our bargain, she realized, startled, awed. Happy. He was so desperate to have her, he would take anything he could get. Even scraps.

  “A little tip for you, Winged Wonder. Don’t threaten the woman you want to seduce.” See Annabelle take control.

  He reached out, gently brushed his fingertip along her collarbone. “If it means saving your life, I’ll do more than threaten you. I’ll follow through. Best you realize that now, rather than crying foul later.”

  The touch, slight though it had been and even blocked by cotton, electrified her. See Zacharel take control away from her. “I want a man to be my equal, not my boss.”

  He flashed his teeth at her, his arm falling heavily to his side. “I will never be your equal. I will always be stronger, faster.”

  Better?

  Yes, there was that, wasn’t there, she thought, that shot of confidence fiz
zling completely. The sandwich seemed to compact inside her stomach, becoming a lead ball. “I’m not sure why you’d even want to kiss me. You make me sound like a real prize. Maybe we should just forget our bargain altogether.”

  He slammed a fist into the table’s surface. “The bargain remains intact.”

  The atypical outburst astounded her, causing her eyes to widen. Must have astounded him, too, because the moment he realized just how much force he’d used, he licked his lips and added smoothly, “Otherwise, I would be allowed to desert you at any moment, would I not? And you do not want that, do you, Annabelle?”

  No, because he would be able to return to the heavens. And that was the only reason she decided to capitulate. Really. “Fine. The bargain remains intact. But the more you talk, the more I dislike you. You know that, right?”

  “It shall be my pleasure to remedy it. First, it is not your strength or your speed that draws me. It’s your…everything. Your laugh, your wit, your emotions and the way they change. Your courage, your sweetness, your near obsessive delight for cookies. Second, you are indeed a prize. You’ve made me want what no one else ever has. A communion of bodies.”

  Uh, never again would she tell this man he had no idea how to seduce a woman. His words affected her, deeply and inexorably. A communion of bodies. His. Hers. Theirs, as one. Just the thought caused goose bumps to break out over her skin. And there was no more nervousness. None at all. He’d just reminded her that the act was meant to be special, not shameful, between two people meant to be together.

  Meant to be? You and Zacharel?

  He flattened his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Third. The blond angel, Thane, the one you claimed to like better than me. This is his cave, and those are his tools.” With a tilt of his head, he motioned to the rack that so reminded her of her hospital gurney. “Know that he will use them on you if you turn to him. You will not turn to him.”

  Okay, that had sounded like jealousy. And the change in him, from distant and threatening to possessive and needy, was as startling as his fist to the table. She reeled, empowered all the more.

  “You are right,” he said, before she could reply. “Talking is doing us no good. Eat.”

  Well, darn. Every time she thought she’d gained the upper hand, he had to go and ruin it. “Yes, Daddy,” she grumbled, and popped another piece of bread in her mouth.

  That earned her a fiery glare.

  As she finished off the food, she watched Zacharel through slitted lids, trying not to be obvious in her study of him. Despite his change in mood, he could have stepped from a painting, so striking was his visage. Would she ever get used to the beauty of him?

  After all, his hair would always be black, his skin unwrinkled. He would never change. He would always look this way, while she would age. Ugh. She would age, wouldn’t she?

  The only thing different about him was his wings. They were now mostly gold with specks of white threaded through the feathers. If he was right, and he was evolving into one of the Elite, whatever that meant, he was evolving quickly.

  “Just so you know,” she said when she realized the silence had grown just as tense as their words. “I do not desire Thane.”

  He nodded, satisfied.

  “So how long will we stay here?”

  “No more than four days. I need to know if demons can sense you when you’re underground. The answer will dictate our next course of action.”

  Plenty of time for him to teach her a little about fighting demons. Of course, that lesson would involve physical contact, and physical contact would probably cause her hormones to go wild. She would want to kiss him, which meant, according to their bargain—which he hadn’t let her terminate—she would have to kiss him.

  Would she find the courage?

  Stupid question, plaguing her.

  What if she sucked—the bad kind of sucking? What if she turned him off kissing forever? What if she freaked out? Or, what if she liked it? What if she wanted more? What if he refused to give her more? What if he rebuked her as he’d done to that other female? That beautiful angel with the dark, curling hair? Despite the fact that he claimed to desire Annabelle.

  Or, what if he wanted more than a kiss but Annabelle refused to give him more? Would he then decide she wasn’t worth the effort and dump her somewhere?

  No, she thought next. He wasn’t a slime. He might be cold and callous, but he wasn’t a liar, either. He had agreed to stay with her for a month, and so he would…no matter what. Would he regret that promise, though? Or would he be glad for it?

  Only one way to learn the answers to all your questions…

  Added bonus: the first time would be over, done, and the nervousness would leave her once and for all.

  Well, that settled it.

  “Zacharel,” she said on a wispy catch of breath.

  His gaze drilled into her very soul. “What are you thinking about, Annabelle?” Huskily asked, a caress to each of her senses.

  Like him, she couldn’t lie. Not this time, the truth already proven by the softening of her lips. “Kissing you.”

  His gaze immediately dropped to her lips, his pupils gobbling up his irises. “Why?”

  Because you think I’m a prize. Because, when you look at me, I feel cherished rather than leered at. “I believe you’ll be familiar with my answer—because.”

  Slowly the corners of his mouth curled up. “So what are you waiting for? You know what you must do.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ZACHAREL WAITED, TENSE, as Annabelle slowly stood and closed the distance between them. He tensed further when she at last positioned herself between his legs. Part of him screamed to stop her, to stop this. After the first tasting, there would be no going back. He would know, the knowledge a part of him. The rest of him screamed for more. For all.

  The rest of him won.

  His curiosity was far too great, but more than that, his need to pleasure this particular woman was too great. Her scent was the sweetest of aphrodisiacs. Her curves had been made for his hands, and his alone—as he would soon confirm. He coiled his fingers around her small, fragile hips, just as she flattened her palms on his shoulders. At the moment of contact, her heated gasp filled the space between them.

  “Closer,” he rasped, tugging her until they were flush. Because he was seated, they were now eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. Have to taste…

  But she didn’t give him what he wanted. “If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop, okay? Don’t go all caveman and push me away or call me names or blame me.”

  “I will like it, and you will teach me what to do.”

  “But if you don’t—”

  “You’re stalling.” Zacharel slid a hand up the ridges of her spine and into her hair, fisting the strands and urging her to close the rest of the distance.

  “You’re sure?”

  He pressed his lips against hers. Lips so different from his own; softer, as soft as rose petals, fuller, holding him in thrall at that very first brush. He pulled back, marveling, and then he went in again…marveled anew at the decadence of her…then again, and this time, moaning, she opened for him.

  Her tongue rolled against his, bringing with it the tastes of summer: berries dipped in cream, newly blooming roses and sultry midnights.

  As focused on her as he was, he was able to follow her lead. When her tongue thrust, he knew to meet it. When her tongue retreated, he knew to chase it. He relished every new experience, growling his desire for more.

  Her fingers slicked through his hair, decadent sensations dancing over his scalp, tickling skin that had never before been touched by another’s hands. “I don’t know about you but I like this,” she breathed, sounding surprised.

  “Yes.” His blood had been icy for so long, with only the occasional flash of heat to prevent him from freezing. Heat he’d only felt with her. Now that blood was molten, scorching through his veins, warming him up. Sweat beaded on his brow, between his shoulder blades, and trickled
down his stomach.

  Even his breath burned him, singeing his lungs and scraping at his throat. There was only one cure for the fever, and he instinctively knew what it was. He had to be closer to her, had to touch all of her. Had to have all of her.

  “Up.” A command.

  When she failed to immediately obey, Zacharel cupped her bottom and lifted her, forcing her to straddle him, to settle her weight against him. And oh, sweet heavens, yes, that was exactly what he’d needed. Pleasure rocketed through him, a beautiful sort of torture.

  She moaned into his mouth, her nails sinking into his scalp, as if to hold him in place. As if she worried he would try to get away. Never would he do such a thing. He was lost, tied only to the woman in his lap and glad for it. Except…