Wicked Nights aotd-1 Page 33

  The minion forced the angel to her knees. Koldo peered at her, but she kept her gaze on his feet. Did she have any idea the things he planned to do to her?

  He looked back at Jamila. Her eyes were now open, dulled, but filled with hope and regret. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she had something to say but couldn’t quite get the words out. Or maybe she feared she would cry out and beg.

  “Listen carefully, warrior.” Unforgiveness outlined what he wanted Koldo to do, leaving no detail to chance. “You have one day to make this happen. One day. Not enough time to plan anything on your own, but just enough time to do what I desire. After that, I kill the females. And do not think you can swoop in with more soldiers and save them. Those soldiers would have to enter through the gate, and my spies would alert me. Do not think to sneak back in yourself, for I would sense you. Do not think to warn Zacharel, for you will now be traveling with my minion. Ditch the minion, and the females die.”

  Lead settled inside Koldo’s stomach as each of his options was systematically ripped away.

  “You see, I’ve thought of everything.” Once again Unforgiveness was grinning. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ZACHAREL SNUGGLED ANNABELLE close. Finally her human form was returning. But then, he’d done much to calm her down, flying her to the stars, as close as he could get her without allowing the atmosphere to freeze her, caressing her arms, her belly, kissing the curve of her neck. When she trembled at the beauty of both, he changed direction and took her to a beach to watch the sunrise and bask in the warmth, still caressing her, still kissing her.

  During the first hour, she was withdrawn. During the second, she was stiff as a board. Through it all, she was quiet. He’d gotten used to the way she spoke her mind. He missed that, and wanted it back.

  Now they were inside another hotel room, lying on the bed, simply breathing each other in. He’d live in rented rooms if necessary, anything to keep her safe and happy This one was bigger than any of the others, cleaner, nicer.

  “Sweetheart,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Finally, a word from her.

  “You know I desire you, whatever your form.”

  “I… Yes.”

  “Do you remember when I told you that I wanted to do everything with you?”

  Another yes, though this one was barely a whisper.

  “That hasn’t changed. I will. Starting now.”

  Her eyes flared with shock. “But we’ve already done everything! And you really want me? Now?”

  She did not know, after all. “Now. And always.”

  His determined assurance gave her pause. “But I’m…hideous.”

  Patches of demon scales still remained, yes. “You are lovely no matter your outward appearance, and some things need to be repeated.” Proving that had been the point of tonight’s excursion, and it was clearly time to step up his efforts.

  “How can you say I’m lovely? You hate demons as much as I do.”

  “You are not a demon.” He stood, tugging her to her feet beside him, then forced her to spin, placing her back against his chest. He walked her to the wall, pressed her close. Her trembling gasp was more about the heat radiating from him than the chill of the plaster, he suspected.

  He slid his hands down her sides, her hips, and latched onto her wrists. He lifted her arms and flattened her palms over her head.

  “Leave them there.” A command, and when he released her, she obeyed.

  He stripped her, then caressed her until she was mewling uncontrollably, until the curve of her spine was pliant, until she was trying to mold herself against him. Eventually her head fell to his shoulder, allowing his breath to fan over her. The heat she threw off…far more than his own and exactly what he needed, driving him to passion as only she could.

  Against her ear, he whispered, “Did you like being with me?”

  “Yes.” Said on a broken moan. “I did.”

  “And you want me again.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He traced each of her ribs before dabbling at her navel. “I told you that you would never have to beg me for anything, but I’ve changed my mind. Before I take you, you’ll beg me, Anna. You’ll beg me and you’ll scream and you’ll beg some more.” He needed to know her desire was as potent as his own.

  Throughout the centuries, he’d witnessed every sexual act imaginable, each performed for different reasons. Lust, domination, curiosity, humiliation, degradation, calculation, revenge, hope, the desire to have children, the desire to cause pain. Love he’d always sought to deny.

  But that’s what he wanted with Annabelle. Love. He wanted a giving and taking, a shared experience.

  “Zaaachaaarel,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  “That’s a good start.” He could smell the sweetness of her arousal, a fragrance that stroked him from the inside, heating him up, making him burn hotter, so much hotter.

  “What if I refuse to beg?”

  “You won’t.”

  For a long while, he taunted them both, stroking her everywhere but where she needed him most. Her fingers curled on the wall. Bang, bang. She pounded those little fists, desperate for relief. But did she beg? No.

  Finally she began to talk, telling him all the things she wanted him to do to her…all the things she wanted to do to him….

  …touch him…

  …stroke him…

  …liiick him…

  By the time she quieted, his nerves were so sensitized, he could barely stand. Definitely couldn’t stand still. He rubbed against her, again and again, the friction ecstasy…misery. He imagined her hands on him, all over him. He imagined her mouth on him, all over him.

  He craved.

  “Those things you will do to me.” He barely registered the fire, ice and sheer grit in his voice. “Next time.”

  She turned her head, giving him a peek at her profile. The most adorable of pouts tugged at the corners of her lips. “And now?”

  “Now I continue my quest to make you beg.” He chuckled as her pout deepened. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”

  He got serious, no longer content to tease her. He worked her until she was alternately gasping and moaning, playing with her breasts, stroking where she needed him most, until her hands were off the wall and in his hair, her nails scouring his scalp. Oh, how she clung to him in the most decadent of ways. She purred. She moaned. She writhed. And all the while he continued to rub against her, desperate to fill her.

  “Please,” she finally begged. “I give. Please, please, please!”

  “I will never say no to you.”

  She threw a little grin over her shoulder, her eyes as bright with humor as they were hot with arousal. “Good, because now I want you to beg me.”

  He did not hesitate. “Please, please, please, Annabelle.” At last he lifted his robe, positioned himself, and slid inside the glorious sheath she provided. “Please.”

  “Zacharel,” she said on a moan. “Faster. Please.”

  “Or…” He went slower—before stopping altogether. His legs were trembling, threatening to give out at any moment, but he would savor every second of this, would be so careful with his woman.

  “Zacharel.”

  He inched back into motion….

  …a little faster…

  “Please.”

  Still a little faster… The pleasure was cut with agony, but he loved it, loved every sensation…faster…faster….

  Her fists again banged into the wall as she shattered. He was right there with her, shouting her name, branding her with all that he was.

  Long minutes later, when they had both calmed, he picked her up and carried her to the shower. She didn’t speak a word as he cleaned her, then himself. No remnants of the demon form remained, and he was glad. She was composed and sated.

  And…he hadn’t once kissed her, he realized suddenly.

  Zacharel looked her over. Soaking-wet hair was plastered to h
er head, cheeks and shoulders. Ice-blue eyes watched him, droplets clinging at the ends of her lashes. Her cheeks were flushed to a rosy pink, her lips swollen and teeth-marked. She must have chewed them. Her body was reddened where he’d kneaded her, and shaky, so beautifully shaky with satisfaction.

  He cupped her jaw. Forever he simply stood there, continuing to peer at her, allowing her to study him and hiding nothing from her. He wondered if she saw the same loveliness he saw in her, if she saw the reverence and the hunger he felt for her. If she saw the hope for something more. For all. She must have, for she reflected everything back at him.

  For so long, he’d had nothing—and she had somehow become his everything.

  Without explaining himself, he fused their lips together. He wanted the kiss to talk for him, to prepare her for his next confession. Their tongues met, rolled together, dueled, a kiss not meant to arouse but to give.

  When finally he lifted his head, he stared down at her and gave voice to action. “I love you, Annabelle.”

  She was more than his other half; she was the best part of him.

  “I know.”

  That was it? That was all? “Tell me how you knew this.” When he himself hadn’t known until today, this moment. And then tell me you love me back!

  Her expression was so soft, so radiant. “It’s the way you are with me. You’re not like that with anyone else. And let’s not forget my earlier appearance and the fact that you didn’t stab me.”

  He waited, but she said no more. Her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair, winding the strands into ringlets. “What am I like with you?” Some men could give their love and expect nothing in return. Zacharel wasn’t one of them. He expected everything. Would demand it.

  “Softer, sweeter. A protector.” She chuckled warmly. “Insatiable.”

  He adored the way her voice dipped so huskily at the end. “How am I with others?”

  “Harsh, matter-of-fact, demanding. A tyrant.”

  “Good. I must be that way with my men. I am all that stands between them and banishment from the heavens.”

  “How?”

  “My fate is their fate, for the Deity tied me to them as punishment. Though I no longer see it as such,” he said.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “Do not worry. I will whip them into shape. Perhaps literally. But in the end, they are mine to guard, just as you are mine. The loss of their wings, their immortality, would haunt me. They are good men.”

  “You love them, too,” she said.

  He was far from ready to entertain such a notion, but he admired and respected them greatly. “What about you? Do you love me?” Subtly hinting hadn’t worked; perhaps outright asking would.

  Frowning, she said, “Do you want me to love you?”

  “Yes.” She must. Otherwise he would…what?

  “Will you know if I lie?”

  “Yes. But you will not be lying!”

  Slowly her frown changed into a smile. “Goodness, but you are so easy to tease.”

  “Annabelle,” he growled.

  “Oh, all right. I love you,” she said. “I love you with all my heart.” The first had been grudgingly offered, but the second…adoration had dripped from her voice.

  Satisfaction was a sublime avalanche inside him, falling into every part of him, overwhelming him. “You will stay with me always.”

  Her somber air returned, and this time, he would bet it was real. “Of course. I won’t break my pledge, but we’ll have to find a way to contain the high lord who wants me. Otherwise, demons will chase me for the rest of my life, and you’ll be in constant danger.”

  “Some things are worth any amount of danger.”

  “Zacharel,” a hard male voice said from beyond the shower stall. “Something’s happened.”

  Annabelle yelped.

  Instantly Zacharel’s satisfaction dried up, replaced by fury. With himself, not Koldo. How could he not have heard his soldier enter the bathroom? “Step into the other room. Now.”

  No response. No opening and closing of the door, either. But the warrior was no longer there.

  Zacharel jerked the towel from the rack at the back of the stall and wrapped the material around Annabelle, unconcerned by the fact that the water would soon soak it.

  “Stay here,” he told her, then exited to deal with the latest disaster. And he knew it was a disaster. Nothing else would have brought his warrior here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ANNABELLE HEARD MUFFLED MALE voices as she searched the bathroom for something to wear. What she found was two washrags and another towel. Not exactly appropriate attire for a meeting with angels. But if she had to pretend dishrag was the latest style, she would. She wouldn’t remain in here like a shameful secret.

  Zacharel must have sensed her growing frustration and determination, because he opened the door, peeked inside, winked and tossed in a robe before once again disappearing.

  She sighed dreamily, still reeling from what she and Zacharel had done and admitted to each other. Oh, she’d already realized he’d fallen in love with her, but there was something so magnificent about hearing the words. Of knowing, beyond any doubt, that she, Annabelle Miller, had tamed such an exquisite animal. An ice-cold warrior that possessed a streak of carnality that, once unleashed, would never again be caged.

  Shaking, she tugged the white material over her body and exited the bathroom.

  “—have found Unforgiveness,” Koldo was saying.

  Her gaze immediately sought Zacharel. He, too, wore a robe. Lamplight gilded his exposed skin, her angel now a golden statue of perfection and might.

  Zacharel watched her rather than his soldier and motioned her over. But apparently standing at his side wasn’t close enough, because he wound his arm around her waist and tugged her so close they practically melded together.

  When neither man seemed inclined to restart the conversation, she decided to do it herself. “So where is Unforgiveness and what’s the game plan?”

  A beat of tense silence, then, “Hell,” Koldo announced. “He is in hell, and he claims he will release you from his bond if Zacharel agrees to fall.”

  Ice thickened Annabelle’s blood, scraping against her veins, stinging. “No way. Just no way.” He would lose his immortality. He would lose his ability to see—and fight—demons. But they wouldn’t lose their ability to see and fight him. “He’s not falling.” To Zacharel, she added, “You’re not falling. Why would the demon want you to fall, anyway?”

  “I’ll be easier to kill, less a thorn in his side. But you do not get to decide this for me, Annabelle.”

  “You’d be the stupidest man ever to live if you agreed to this. He’s lying. You know he’s lying. He’ll never willingly release me.” That was just a guess on her part, but one thing she knew: demons were incapable of telling the truth.

  “For a chance to free you, I would do anything.”

  “No!” The fact that Zacharel would even consider falling upset her. Any other girl probably would have jumped with joy, because such a sacrifice proved beyond words that her man loved her. But Annabelle wasn’t any girl, and she knew everything falling would entail. Not just Zacharel’s ruination, but his men’s, too.

  He would never be able to forgive himself. He’d already lost his brother, and the fact that he’d been the one to render the final blow was a constant dagger inside his chest, eternally chafing, never allowing him to heal.

  “We’re wasting time,” she said. “I want you to go to your Deity—and not fall!”

  “So what would you have me do?”

  “Ask him to do something, I don’t know, powerful. Mighty.”

  He shook his head, dark hair dancing at his temples. “I am due punishment, not aid. Besides, all he can do is grant me permission to enter hell, and that will do us no good.”

  “Punishment?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

  His hold on her tightened, his way of saying, Not now, woman.
Later. In answer, she pinched his hand. Her way of saying, I won’t let this go, angel.

  She twisted, cupped his cheeks and forced him to peer down at her. “Remember what we talked about?” she asked, letting the words locking Unforgiveness away remain unsaid. “Why it’s so important to go that route? So talk to your Deity, okay? Please. He gave you an army, a promotion. Angry with you or not, there’s got to be something more he can do.”

  He opened his mouth—to protest, she knew.

  “If you don’t, someone else might find and defeat Unforgiveness.” If that happened, she would die, and Zacharel would blame himself.

  Indecision played through his eyes, now a stormy jade. She was manipulating him, and she knew it, but she didn’t know what else to do. She would rather he fought Unforgiveness than lose everything.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” he said.

  “Please, Zacharel. Do this for me. For us. Koldo will stay with me.”

  He massaged the back of his neck. “Very well. I will talk to the Deity, but I cannot promise a favorable outcome.” His gaze slid to the tall, strong warrior beside them. “Stay here. Guard her. I won’t be gone long.”

  Yes!

  Koldo nodded.

  “I love you,” Zacharel said, and kissed her.

  “I love you, too. So much.”

  He paused for a moment, as though he couldn’t bear to leave her, then flared his wings and leapt through the air, through the ceiling, disappearing from view.

  “Do you hope I will kill you while he’s gone?” Koldo asked. “Is that why you sent Zacharel away? You are bound to Unforgiveness, and by dying, you will kill the demon and save Zacharel in every sense of the word.”

  “I hadn’t been, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Zacharel would blame himself—and you.”

  “There are ways to ensure he never knows what happened.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  A shrug of those wide shoulders.

  To save Zacharel from falling, she would do just about anything. Even die. Zacharel would blame himself no matter what Koldo said, and he would mourn her, but he would live a long life. All in all, that seemed like a fair trade. He would continue to lead his men. Eventually he would meet another woman—Annabelle disliked her already—and rediscover love, heal.