“You aren’t going anywhere. You hurt my female.”

The human held up his hands, palms out, all innocence. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know she’s a killer. Violently insane. I’m her doctor. I would never—”

Zacharel backhanded him, breaking his jaw and ensuring silence. “I told you. I do not like liars. You hurt her, and one way or another you will suffer for that.”

Wide eyes filled with horror, the doctor wilted on the floor. He knew. He knew he had reached the end of the line.

“I have encountered males like you before. You are weak, but you like to pretend you are strong. That’s why you pick victims who cannot fight back.” He arched a brow. “I wonder, does your wife know what a vile coward you are? Is that why she left you? Do your children know?” Zacharel got in his face. “Do not worry. If they don’t, they soon will.”

Annabelle stomped into the room, tears tracking down her face, her chin trembling. “You sick pervert! You…you…monster!” A screeching catapult, she launched herself at Fitzherbert, punching him, kicking at him.

Zacharel stepped out of the way, and waited for her to finish. Already her skin was patched with demon scales, her nails sharpened into claws. She’d removed the robe, and he could see that the back of her shirt was ripped, the jagged edges of wings trying to emerge.

Eventually the last of her energy drained. She threw herself away from the now-bloody man and sobbed.

“Tell me,” Zacharel commanded softly.

After a few gasping breaths, she managed to get out, “The pictures were on his computer. They were also loaded into a digital frame, along with those of other women he’s abused. They flash as he works.”

“Did you delete them?”

“No. I wanted to, almost did, but…I want to take him and the evidence of what he’s done to the police. I want him to pay for what he’s done the right way.”

Fitzherbert’s struggles renewed, his panic nearly tangible.

“And so he shall.”

Though it took some convincing—in the form of Zacharel’s fists—Fitzherbert eventually dialed 911 himself and confessed his crimes. That done, Zacharel gagged him, stripped him and staked him to his own front lawn to await his arrest. His neighbors came out to watch. The fact that nobody attempted to intervene told him that Annabelle wasn’t the only one who loathed the good doctor.

Annabelle was fully demon by the time the policemen arrived, so Zacharel kept her hidden from prying eyes, not only with his abilities, but also by tucking her into his side and covering her with his wings.

At first she struggled against him. “D-don’t touch me when I’m like this. I can’t bear it.”

A lie. She could bear it; she also needed the contact as much as he did. He’d hurt her while she was in this form, and so she assumed he found her ugly, repulsive even. He needed to prove otherwise.

“Come closer to me.” He forced her to tuck herself into the line of his body. “I want to show you something.”

Her claws embedded in his chest, and she released a dejected breath. “Let me guess. The end of a dagger?”

A lance of self-directed anger, no longer contained near his heart, but shooting through his entire body. “I told you I would never again hurt you, and I meant it.”

Silence.

“You’re right.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll go wherever you want me to go.”

“Good girl. And as you once told me, I’ll make you so happy you said that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SCREAMS OF PAIN AND PLEAS for mercy roused Koldo from his nap. He sat up, the scabs on his back splitting, fresh blood flowing. To his left, Thane, Bjorn and Xerxes exuded relish as they interrogated three demons chained to his wall. The scent of rot and diseased blood saturated the air.

He experienced a rush of disappointment and even anger. His home was ruined now. The home he’d spent centuries building, hiding and decorating. The only place he could fully relax, unwind. The luxurious prison he’d meant to keep the angel who had removed his wings. But that plan had been blown the moment he’d brought Zacharel and the human girl here, so…if he blamed anyone, he had to blame himself.

He rubbed at his scalp and the patches of stubble that remained. He was bald now. Would probably be bald forever, the mirror image of his father’s people.

“Learn anything?” he asked no one in particular.

Thane paused in the removal of his victim’s claws only long enough to say, “Their orders came from the high lord Unforgiveness.”

Unforgiveness. A true nightmare Koldo had never had the pleasure of fighting—but had wanted to fight many times over. The demon caused more trouble than any of his kind. “And those orders were?”

“We’re still working on that part.”

Koldo swept his gaze over the minions. Bigger than the little ones that latched themselves to humans, but no less dangerous, they were broken, cut and bleeding, hunched over, fighting for breath, even crying. Had any humans been here, they would have felt sorry for the creatures. Perhaps even pleaded for mercy, too. Koldo felt no such sympathy. How could he? He knew what these beings were capable of, knew the destruction they had rained would continue if they were freed.

To consider a demon redeemable was a fatal mistake.

His legs shook as he stood. Shook more as he walked over to Thane, who sat on a stool in front of his minion, and patted the man on the shoulder, careful not to brush against his wings.

The warrior with the sweetly curling hair and the wicked, heavenly eyes glanced up, frowned. “Do you desire a turn?”

There was a hitch in his voice, and Koldo knew Thane fought the need to rebuke him for daring to touch him without permission. But this was Koldo’s home, and Thane was here without permission of his own. “No. I want you to let the minion go. Alive.”

Thane leapt to his feet, the stool skittering back. His boys did the same, flanking his side in seconds. They formed a wall of muscle and might, a support system no one else would ever be able to breach. “You must still burn with fever to even suggest such a thing. It will only possess, rape and murder.”

How little these men thought of him. But unlike Zacharel, he would not embrace his ability to speak in the minds of his fellow soldiers and convince them otherwise. That was an invasion, plain and simple, and he didn’t trust the men to only listen to his words and never attempt to search through his mind, his memories.

He barreled between Thane and Bjorn and gripped the minion by the throat, forcing the male to look up, into his eyes. One crimson orb was missing, blood trekking down a bony cheek.

“Only one of the three demons here will walk away,” he announced.

Behind him, the angels hissed with outrage. But they didn’t contradict him, and he was grateful for that, at least.

“I have a message for your high lord. Will you be the one to deliver it?”

The minion brightened instantly. “Yes, yes, of course. Would be my pleasure to serve you in this way.”

A lie, most surely.

“No, no. I’ll deliver it,” the minion beside him said. “Let me.”

“No, me,” the third rushed out. “I’ll do anything. Anything!”

Koldo kept his gaze on the one he held. “I do not believe you. And that is why I’m keeping a piece of you here. If you want that piece back, you’ll have to come and get it with proof of your actions.” That said, Koldo ripped off the creature’s right arm.

A scream of agony, jagged at the edges. The spurt of black blood.

He tossed the appendage to the floor. As greedy and selfish as demons were, they could not bear for anyone else to have what belonged to them.

“I’ll go,” was the panted reply. “I’ll go and return. Swear.”

Truth or lie? Other angels would have been able to tell, but because of his father, Koldo could not. “When you see him, tell Unforgiveness that his cowardly hiding will not save him from our wrath.”

Koldo removed the chains.

In a blink, the demon bolted up and through the side wall, disappearing from view, laughing gleefully.

“What now?” Thane asked, angry.

“Now,” Koldo replied, “I follow him to the high lord. I have a lock on his spiritual trail.” An ability he hadn’t wanted the demon to know about, hence the pretense that he expected proof. “Once I discover where Unforgiveness and his horde are staying, I can lead Zacharel straight to him. In the meantime, kill these two. They are no longer needed and now possess information they shouldn’t.”

Amid the demons’ protests and the warriors’ grunts of approval, Koldo hid himself in a pocket of air, knowing that not even the angels could sense him any longer, and followed the trail the fleeing demon had left for him. He saw sparks of pink—relief. Fetid green and slick black, like diseased oil leaking from a car—the need to hurt someone mixed with fear.

The minion surprised him, doing as Koldo had commanded and going straight to the high lord. Through layers of dirt and rock, through long, winding tunnels, and into hell, a land of fire, ash and utter doom. Prairies and hills were scorched, charred to nothing. Ash curled through the air, creating a choking breeze. The intensity of the heat licked at him, causing his skin to sweat and welt. Screams of agony assaulted his ears, followed quickly by eerie laughter.

Angels were not allowed to enter without permission. Hell was not their realm, nor was it under their control, subject to their rules. But again, Koldo was not just any angel. His father had— No, he would not think about the man and why, exactly, he could pass between heaven and hell. He would then think about his mother.

Koldo caught sight of the minion, zipping along a bone-laden bridge. Water did not flow beneath, but blood, so much blood. Spikes anchored one side of that bridge to the other, a soul writhing in the center of each. At the end was a palace of gloom and torment, comprised only of human skulls. Thousands of empty eye sockets seemed to watch him.