“What! No way.”
“Yes way.”
“Possessed,” she echoed hollowly.
Good. She would never again gaze at Paris in such a longing manner. Petty of him? Maybe. Did he care? No. “Most of the people here are demonically influenced, as I told you, but a few are actually possessed. Burden employs them—the demons, I mean, and pays them to tempt any of the Black Veil’s patrons who are not yet so evilly inclined.”
Her fingers tightened around his, and he knew she hoped to take strength from him. “So what are we supposed to do now?”
“Now we wait.”
Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long. A female parted the masses on the dance floor, then slowly strolled toward Zacharel. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, she had a silky fall of pale hair, skin a light dusting of rose and eyes as golden as the moonlight outside.
Large breasts were barely concealed in a red leather dress, patches of material cut from the sides to reveal perfectly flared hips. The dress’s hem stopped just below her bottom, making it clear there were no panties to shield the apex of those mile-long legs.
Beautiful, yes. But also one of the demon possessed.
He could sense the human soul banging at the doors of her mind, desperate to escape the demon’s hold. It had been a recent possession, then. Within a few days, most likely.
She stopped in front of him, but her gaze focused squarely on Annabelle. “There’s my sweet little geisha. How I’ve missed you.”
“What did you just call me?” Annabelle gasped out.
The human male, Fitzherbert, had said those exact words to her, Zacharel recalled. Sweet little geisha. Zacharel did not believe in coincidences. The demon now possessing the woman in front of her must once have possessed someone at the institution. Not Fitzherbert—Zacharel would have sensed it—but someone who spent a great deal of time inside the building. A patient, most likely, which made sense. Minions who’d created a stronghold inside a human mind could convince their hosts to do almost anything. Burden would have wanted one with easy access to Annabelle, watching, listening, probably even encouraging others to hurt her, then reporting back.
Glossy pink lips curled in a seductive smile. “Did you miss me, too, little geisha? I could take pictures of myself and give them to you. That way, whenever we part, you can look at them and think of me.”
For some reason, the comment enraged Annabelle. She grabbed—and launched—two of her daggers. Both were soon embedded in the other woman’s chest.
“I’d like a picture of you just like this,” Annabelle snarled. “Thoughts?”
The female let out a shriek of shock and pain…then unleashed a stream of black curses, ending with, “I’ll straight-up murder you!”
Some of the dancers noticed the violence and screamed, running for the door. Others just kept bumping and grinding.
“You will do no such thing,” Zacharel said.
The woman gritted her teeth and removed the now-dripping blades with a sharp jerk. “Control your pet, angel.”
“Unlike you, demon, I do not stoop to controlling humans.” And if his Deity thought to reprove Annabelle, he would stand in the gap and bear the punishment for her.
Funny that he had complained about just such a thing only a few days ago. Even funnier that he was more than willing—happy—to now do so.
“Sorry about that,” Annabelle muttered. “Rage got the better of me.”
He clasped her hand, squeezed. “Because of the demonic charge in the air, that will be easier to do. Guard your emotions.”
“Enough!” the demon shouted. Her eyes narrowed…eyes now glowing a bright, bright red. Clearly she did not appreciate being ignored. “This way.” With that she turned and led them through the club, pausing to look smugly over her shoulder. “But do not expect Burden to be as welcoming as I was.”#p#分页标题#e#
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ANNABELLE STRUGGLED TO maintain a calm facade during the entire journey to the main office. The three of them pounded up a winding flight of stairs and through the smoky haze of the VIP lounge. She managed to hold her head high, even when people stopped what they were doing—having sex, snorting coke, torquing veins—to glare at her and Zacharel. Demons had to be resting on their shoulders, as Zacharel had said, but she couldn’t see them.
When at last their trio stepped inside a seeming paradise, her struggle for composure jumped to the next level. Everything looked so normal, yet deep down she knew it was oh, so wrong. The room was spacious, with white walls and a white shag carpet interspersed with black, creating hypnotizing squares. Bookshelves lined the wall behind a desk shaped like a half-moon. A chandelier hung overhead, positioned in the center of a three-tiered ceiling.
Nice, right? But behind the desk sat a beautiful golden-haired man in his mid-thirties, the high back of his leather chair rising several inches above his head, Dr. Evil style. He was far too thin, like, sickly thin, but his pose was all about the casual, his elbows resting on the chair arms, his fingers steepled over his mouth. Still, he couldn’t hide his air of cruelty.
Who was he? The last line of security before they reached the demon?
His eyes were a darker shade of blue than Annabelle’s own, and dulled, his lashes brown yet tipped in gold. The shadow of a beard scruffed his jaw. He wore a navy blue pinstriped suit and smelled of money, musk and pungent alcohol.
The two armed guards behind him wore muscle tanks and leather pants, their expressions expectant. No doubt they were the type to shoot first and ask questions later.
The beautiful blond girl from the club, the one Annabelle had stabbed, plopped into a couch beside the door, mumbling about the best ways to torture pesky humans as she patched herself up.
“Hello, Burden,” Zacharel said.
Burden. This was Burden? The demon-possessed man who had ordered all those other demons to attack her inside the institution? I shouldn’t have wasted my last two knives on the girl.
Dr. Evil’s smile became all the more welcoming—and all the more sinister.
“Ah, Zacharel,” Burden said. “I’m so pleased you received my invitation.”
“I will see Jamila now,” her angel replied, pleasantries clearly over.
“Your manners…for shame.” Burden’s voice was all satisfaction and potent desires. “Business first? How rude. May we offer you a drink? A whore? A hit?”
Silence.
“No? And what about you, my dear?” His navy gaze moved to Annabelle, slithered over her body and mentally removed her clothing. “Would you like anything?”
Zacharel stiffened as she said, “I’d love something. For starters, I’ll take your head on the floor, detached from your body. After that, we can talk about my next demand.” So he’d told her to keep her mouth shut and her hands to herself while they were here and she had failed at both. So what?
You’re already a target. Do not make yourself more of one, he’d said.
That would have been great advice…when dealing with anyone but a demon. She could not come off as weak. Demons pounced on weakness, exploiting it. But she would rein herself in from now, she vowed. Zacharel had a plan; she knew he did. He and the other three angels had stood in front of each other, silent, for half an hour, their facial expressions changing every few minutes. Somehow, someway, they had been communicating with each other. Not that anyone had explained anything to her when they’d finished.
Burden’s chuckle echoed through the office, cold and slick. “Your thirst for blood does my heart proud, Annabelle. But I wonder…are you hiding any more weapons?” Another once-over ensued. “Oh, yes, I think you are.”
She wasn’t, but so wished she was.
He motioned to one of the guards, and it was obviously an order to frisk her.
Zacharel moved in the blink of an eye, a sword of fire in his hand, and poised at the demon’s throat. “No one touches her.”
The guards made no move to stop him. Either they were too afraid of him, or they had their own orders to obey.
Burden shifted in his seat, but any discomfort he felt was quickly masked with an air of superiority. “If you strike at me, my people know to kill Jamila.”
“I would be no kind of leader if I protected one of my charges above another. So I repeat, no one touches the girl. Ever.”#p#分页标题#e#
That’s my man.
“Very well. No one will touch her while you’re here,” Burden allowed, evidently not the least bit upset that his authority had been questioned.
“Agreed.”
Wait. What?
Zacharel’s sword vanished.
The demon’s grin returned. “Because I’m so generous, I’ll allow your woman to keep her weapons.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Annabelle said, acting as if she did, in fact, have a few surprises tucked away. Now it’s time for you to zip it, Miller, and let Zachie do his thing. Remember?
Burden ignored her, but said to Zacharel with a bit more edge to his tone, “She’ll find I’m not as easy to hurt as the beautiful Driana.” He nodded briefly toward the woman still nursing her wounds on the couch.
“This conversation grows tiresome.” Zacharel flexed his fingers at his side, before curling his hands into fists. “Let’s move on.”