Wicked Nights

contorted in a grimace and now veering toward the color blue. His broken fingers were gnarled over the comforter, yet too weak to twist the material. He needed Koldo’s “something,” whatever it was, or he would die.

Better he live with her and her danger than die without her.

“Yes,” she said. I owe Zacharel, and I always pay my debts. At least, that was her new motto. “My answer is yes.” Could she trust Koldo to keep his end of the bargain, though? Did she really have another choice?

Koldo nodded once, a stiff, rough incline of his head, causing the beads in his beard to clang together. “Very well. Now, one last question. When I leave you, what will you do to Zacharel?”

Leave her? Making her, the now-handless wonder, the only protection Zacharel had? “How long will you be gone?”

“That I do not know.”

Which could mean six hours or six days. Or even six years. “I’ll take care of him as best as I can.”

“The phrase ‘take care of him’ can have many meanings, such as kill him, save him and avenge him. Even leave him. I require you to be more specific.”

Of course he did. He and Zacharel shared the trait, a desire for details while refusing to share with others. “I mean I’ll tend to him, look after him. I would never purposely hurt him, and I will not leave him on his own, helpless.”

He smacked his lips, as if trying to taste the truth of her claim, before he nodded. “He would hate you for calling him helpless,” he said, and then he disappeared.

Hey! “Koldo? Warrior?”

Nothing, no response.

Frustration ate at her. She had no idea how long he’d be gone, where she was or what to do if demons found her before he returned. Especially since her blades had disappeared with him! So untrusting.

But she was used to being doubted, used to being ignored, and refused to give way to hurt feelings. So, rather than wallow, she would stand guard over Zacharel. The angel who had saved her life. The man she owed. The first person to look at her as if she were more than a murderer.

Whatever was required, she would defend him.

CHAPTER NINE

“HOW’S MY GIRL?”

“Good, good, I ssswear…if you don’t mind that ssshe’sss with the angel, uh, well… Zacharel.” Fear and awe drenched the name.

Grinning, the demon high lord Unforgiveness reclined in his throne, cunningly erected from bones taken from the many angel warriors he’d killed throughout the centuries. The change in his expression caused his four-legged minion to shudder. Usually when he smiled, he was in the process of killing someone.

But then, this was almost as good. The fact that Annabelle was with Zacharel thrilled Unforgiveness to the depths of his rotting black soul. That’s why he’d marked her, after all—to gain the warrior’s attention.

He’d begun to wonder if the warrior would ever find her. He’d begun to regret not giving in to his desire to torture Annabelle while he’d had the chance. Now he was glad for his restraint.

Now he could torture her and Zacharel.

Grin widening, Unforgiveness rubbed two blunt-tipped claws over his jaw. Every day he had to file the nails down to prevent himself from killing his prey before he was ready. Because, when the bloodlust came upon him, he lost track of his surroundings, his ambitions, and simply gorged. He forgot food tasted better if it was aged for a few months, unending terror the perfect marinade.

“Do you require anything more of me, sssire?” the minion asked him, still huddling there on the middle dais steps.

“Yes.”

“Wh-what?”

“You will kneel before me and I will remove your head. Your stench offends me.” As did the fact that he’d shown such admiration for Zacharel.

A sob burst from the minion’s too-thin lips, but he did not deny Unforgiveness’s demand. To do so would have earned him a good tormenting before his inevitable death.

“That would be…my pleasure, sssire.”

He assumed the position.

Unforgiveness palmed his sword, swung. The minion’s head rolled down the steps. And I never even had to stand. He returned his sword to its rightful place against his throne arm and motioned several other minions forward. They lined the walls of the chamber, some tall, some short, but all ugly and here to serve his every twisted desire.

“You, clean the blood. You, feed the body to my army. You, bring me a morsel to eat. A good one this time, or you’ll join your headless friend.”

They rushed to obey. He almost wished one—or all—would defy him. That would certainly alleviate the boredom of the day. Or rather, the centuries. If only for a little while.

Unforgiveness was trapped here. Only when a human managed to summon him could he leave, and then, he could only remain on earth for the time required to complete whatever unholy task the human had summoned him for, or until the human died. Whichever came first, and to be honest—something he never was—the human usually died.

That had begun to bore him, too…until he’d finally stumbled upon Zacharel’s mate. Oh, yes. He’d recognized what she was, and who she was meant to be with, instantly. Maybe he would tell Zacharel how…maybe not. Either way, Zacharel, the warrior angel who had nothing to lose, the soldier who loved nothing and no one, had something worth fighting for.

Now the real fun would begin.

Finally Zacharel would pay for sending Unforgiveness down here.

Demon high lords were fallen angels who had welcomed evil into their hearts. Yes, Unforgiveness had welcomed the evil all on his own, but he hadn’t meant to do so. How could he have known that the smallest pinch, received unintentionally, would cause more to spill inside of him until no goodness remained?

Once he’d realized what was happening, he had fought, tried to save himself. But evil was insidious, a disease that grew inside you, sometimes so slowly you had no idea it was there. Without a proper cleansing, however, it was there, ready to strike, and in the end, you would cave under its weight.

Oh, you might cry when you made your first kill, but the second, third and fourth were easier, and soon you would no longer shed any tears at all. Soon you would no longer uphold life in any form. Soon you were merely a husk of your former self.

But Zacharel had known all of this and could have saved him. Should have saved him. Instead, Zacharel had betrayed him.

“Your morsssel, sssire.” The minion’s voice blended with the sobs of the damned human female he dragged forward.

Unforgiveness blinked to focus. The female was shoved up the steps and forced to kneel between his spread legs. In her mid-twenties, with brown hair and a delicate face, she reminded him of Annabelle.

Every high lord kept a few minions at the gates of hell. When fresh meat was escorted inside, those minions fought for ownership. Down here, might equaled right. Unforgiveness craved the most bitter and hardened of the males and females, and he got them. No one challenged his minions, because no one wanted to deal with him. But every so often, he would discover a brunette beauty like this one.

Tears tracked down this one’s cheeks. Her eyes were hazel, a deep green flecked with golden brown.

He captured one of the tears with his fingertip, and she flinched away from him. He expected the reaction, even enjoyed it. Once, he’d been a study of magnificence. Females had gazed upon him with wonder. Now, with his