Gena Showalter - Angels of the Dark 01 - Wicked Nights.pdf - zachomikowane - Em3A

Angels of the Dark

Dear Reader,

I have been intrigued by the stone-cold angel Zacharel since the first moment he stepped

onto the pages of my Lords of the Underworld series in The Darkest Secret. I mean, really. An

immortal warrior who finds it easier to slay an enemy than to smile at a friend? Yeah, I had to

know his secrets.

I also had to flip his entire world upside down, and oh, did I have fun doing it. He’s been

put in charge of the biggest, baddest beings ever created—an army of angels about to be kicked

out of the heavens forever. He’s met the first woman ever to kindle a fire in his blood, and he’s in

danger of losing his greatest treasure (and no, I’m not just talking about his virginity).

What better way to begin my new Angels of the Dark series?

Sacrifices will have to be made, and battles between good and evil will have to be fought.

(Go, Team Good!) Zacharel has one chance to get this right. Just one—because it’s his last. If he

fails, he will be stripped of everything that matters to him. His position, his power…and even his

love.

I hope you enjoy this journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. After all, as you travel

you’ll be in the arms of an exquisite winged warrior.…

All the best,

Gena Showalter

To Jill Monroe,

for encouraging phone calls and emails, and the laughs! (And I want it forever noted that you are

listed first.)

To Sheila Fields and Betty Sanders,

for the friendship, the brainstorming, and the laughs!

To Joyce and Emmett Harrison, Leigh Heldermon, and Sony Harrison, for the support, the

love, and the laughs! (Yes, I’m big on laughs.)

To Mickey Dowling and Anita Baldwin,

fantastic ladies I adore!

To Kresley Cole and Beth Kendrick—

a thousand thank-yous, ladies. Actually that’s not enough. A million thank-yous, ladies!

And to Kathleen Oudit and Tara Scarcello,

for seriously knocking this one out of the park! So gorgeous!

PROLOGUE

THE MORNING OF HER eighteenth birthday, Annabelle Miller woke from the most

amazing dream feeling as if her eyes had been ripped out, dipped in acid and shoved back into

their sockets. She became aware of the sensation gradually, her mind still fogged from sleep.

When full awareness finally struck, her entire body tensed and bowed, a scream ripping free of

her throat.

She pried her swollen eyelids apart, but…there was no dawning light. Only darkness

greeted her.

The pain spread, riding the too-swift tides in her veins and threatening to burst through

her skin. She rubbed at her face, even clawed, hoping to remove whatever was causing the

problem, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. No bumps, no scratches. No…wait. There

was something. A warm liquid now coated her hands.

Blood?

Another scream left her, followed by another and another, each like a serrated piece of

glass scraping her throat raw. In seconds, panic chewed her up and spit her out. She was blind,

bleeding—and dying?

The whine of hinges, the clack of high heels against the hardwood floor. “Annabelle? Are

you all right?” A pause, then a hiss of breath. “Oh, baby, your eyes. What happened to your eyes?

Rick! Rick! Hurry!”

A curse was followed by the pound of hard, fast footsteps. A second later, a horrified gasp

filled her bedroom. “What happened to her face?” her father bellowed.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. She was like this when I came in.”

“Annabelle, sweetheart.” Her dad, now so tender and concerned. “Can you hear me? Can

you tell me what happened to you?”

Annabelle tried to speak— Daddy, help me, please, help me —but the words became

diamond hard and too jagged to swallow. And oh, dear heaven, the burn migrated to her chest,

flames sparking every time her heart beat.

Strong arms slid under her, one at her shoulders, the other at her knees, and lifted her. The

movement, temperate though it was, jostled her, magnifying the pain and she moaned.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” her dad assured her. “We’ll get you to the hospital and

everything will be okay. I promise.”

The sharpest edges of her panic ebbed. How could she not believe him? He’d never made

a promise he couldn’t keep, and if he thought everything would be okay, everything would be

okay.

Her dad carried her to the SUV in the garage and laid her across the backseat as her

mother’s sobs echoed. Her dad didn’t bother with a buckle, just shut the door and sealed

Annabelle inside. She expected his door to open next, then her mom’s. She expected her parents

to climb inside and drive her to the hospital, as promised, but…nothing.

Annabelle waited…and waited…seconds ticking by with excruciating slowness, the

raggedness of her inhalations becoming laced with the taint of rotten eggs, fetid and sharp enough

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