Honesty was to be commended, and yet Zacharel suddenly battled an inexplicable need to shake her. “You cannot know who you like better. You only spent a few seconds in his company.”
“Sometimes a few seconds is all it takes.”
The fissure in his chest widened. No guilt this time, but a measure of… anger? Oh, yes. Anger. Zacharel was the one who had prevented the doctor from violating her. Zacharel was the one who had freed her. She should like him best. “I am just as fierce a warrior as he is. Fiercer, even.”
A tremor shook her.
Such a reaction… “Perhaps you do not want fierce,” he said, more to himself than to her. Perhaps she craved what she clearly had not encountered in this place. Kindness.
“Look, Winged Wonder. Get me out of here, then we’ll hammer out the details about where I’m staying. Okay?”
“Winged Wonder,” he said, nodding. “I find that I do not mind that one. It fits.”
“Captain Modesty fits better,” she muttered.
“I disagree. Winged Wonder is clearly the better choice for a man such as me, and we will discuss the details now.” He could hardly believe he was having a conversation such as this one. “I will not have you acting out later because there was a misunderstanding between us. I’m dealing with enough of that already.” His gaze pinned her in place. “Tell me why you wish to stay with Thane.”
She gulped but said, “I feel safer with him, that’s all. And besides, snow wasn’t falling from his wings. Why is it falling from yours?”
“The answer does not pertain to you. As for your safety, I have already promised you will be unharmed in my cloud. Therefore, your requirement is met and the details are hammered out. You will stay with me. Come. I will waste no more time with arguments.”
She could not fly, could not flash from one location to another with only a thought, which meant he would have to touch her. He would dislike every second of the contact, he was sure, but he would endure it nonetheless. He extended his hand, motioned with his fingers. “Last chance. Do you stay or do you go?”
I’LL SOON BE FREE OF THIS HELLHOLE, Annabelle thought, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to dance with relief, then hide under the covers from panic. Escape… finally… but would it be the heaven she’d craved—or another version of hell?
Does it matter? You’ll be free of Fitzpervert, free of this cage, free of the drugs and the other patients and the orderlies… free from the demons.
All this time she had been fighting evil beings from hell. Neither of her parents had believed in an afterlife. They had raised her to be skeptical, too. Well, they had been wrong, and she had been wrong, and now she had a lot to learn.
“Annabelle,” Zacharel prompted, again motioning with his fingers.
This man could teach her, she thought. This heavenly man who appeared so devilish, like a dark, seductive dream meant to lure a female straight into midnight temptations.
Dangerous… Yes, this man is dangerous….
The words were a soft, erotic whisper against her flesh. A whisper she’d heard and felt since the moment he’d entered the room.
Still she said, “I… choose to go.” Staying with him any longer than necessary was another story, however. He might remind her of the dark fairy-tale prince she’d dreamed about so long ago, the night before her birthday, but this man was no charmer.
Trembling, she wrapped her fingers around his. At the moment of contact, he sucked in a breath as if she’d somehow burned him and she nearly jerked away. Steady.
Zacharel called himself an angel, but she had no idea what that meant or what it entailed other than the standard “good and right” stuff. More, she had no idea where he was taking her—a cloud? really?—or what he planned to do with her when he got her there.
“Are you okay?”
“I… need a moment to adjust,” he said, a strain in his voice.
Good, because she needed a moment, too. “Take all the time you need, Captain Modesty.”
“I am Winged Wonder, and I will. Do not move.”
“Uh, that might be a problem.” As cold as she was, his skin proved to be colder. Soon the shivers would overtake her.
He offered no reply. Just peered down at her through narrowed lids, as if he blamed her for something catastrophic.
Could she trust him? Maybe, maybe not. But she wanted her freedom and he could give her that. And yeah, she also wanted to be on her own, relying only on herself. One day, she would be. For right now, escape would suffice.
If he tried to hurt her when they got to… wherever he was taking her, she would fight the way she’d always fought—dirty—whether he was an angel or not.
“This contact,” Zacharel said. He frowned, the downward curve of his lips surely a default expression he couldn’t control. Not once had she seen him smile.
Was there anything that would amuse him, or even rattle him?
“What about it?” she forced herself to ask.
“I expected certain sensations to fade, but they still have not.” His grip tightened on her hand, as if he sensed she verged on pulling away. He tugged her closer, closer, until her body was flush against his. “This is not what I imagined.”
As he wrapped his free arm around her waist, he peered down at her with those eyes the color of emeralds. Her birthstone. Once her favorite stone, in fact, but her birthday had become synonymous with death and destruction and, well, she’d decided emeralds sucked.
But she couldn’t deny his eyes were gorgeous. Long, thick lashes framed those jewel-toned irises that lacked any hint of emotion, softening his features from impossibly cruel to maybe-I’ll-only-make-you-scream-a-little-before-I-slay-you.
He had silky hair that reminded her of a starless night. And oh, how long since she’d stared up at the sky? His forehead was neither too long nor too wide, his cheekbones hollowed as though chiseled by a master sculptor. His lips so lush and red a woman needed only a single glance to fantasize for the rest of eternity.
If only he’d been short. But, no. He was tall, at least six foot five, with wide shoulders and the most superb muscle mass she’d ever seen. And his wings? A-maz-ing. They arched over his shoulders and cascaded all the way to the floor. Feathers of the purest white glistened with the essence of the purest rainbow, thick threads of gold forming a hypnotic pattern that led into patches of down.
The other guy, the blond, had been visually delicious as well, but despite the depraved gleam in his cerulean eyes, she’d thought she could handle him. At least better than she could handle this one.
Too late for that. And maybe that was for the best, she decided then. She was filled with so much hate, anger, desperation and helplessness—each, apparently, an aphrodisiac for the demons—Zacharel’s coldness would be a refreshing
