Page 6 of Wicked (Dark Delights #5)

Shadrach

Judging by the way Nathan stormed out of the storage room, Shadrach suspected things didn’t go smoothly. The human shook his hand out as he marched over to where the rest of them were waiting in the arcade area, his face a mask of mulish anger.

“Did you hit him?” Alex asked, gesturing to his hand.

Nathan winced. “Yeah. He pissed me off.” He flexed his hand, which was already healing, and cast a weak smile toward Storm. “Your blood is a miracle.”

Storm chortled. “Not quite, but okay.”

“What happened?” Luke asked.

Nathan’s head jerked to one side, and he began to pace. “He called us traitors. Said it’s a sin to lie , so if Sloan ever asked him anything about our meetings, he was honest.”

“Oh, he’s one of those ,” Talon intoned disdainfully. He was sprawled out on one side of the sofa, and he draped an arm behind Alex.

“One of what?” Alex asked .

“A buzzkill,” Malachi said, snickering. Talon shot him a smirk.

Luke, on the other hand, looked confused. “No, wait. Isaac ? I never would’ve guessed he was one of those super loyal types. That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“Agreed,” Alex added. “With the way he talked about enjoying the hunt and having the power to kill, I wouldn’t have guessed he was actually religious at all, honestly.”

Shadrach’s brows rose. This Isaac person sounded almost like someone he’d like—if their version was the real one, that is. He wasn’t interested in whichever version of him Nathan had just talked to.

“Well, it sounds like he’s been pulling quite the con, and likely at Sloan’s behest,” Talon said. “Are you all willing to concede to our way of doing things?”

“Nate?” Luke asked. His brow was furrowed.

Nathan looked devastated. “You’re letting me decide?”

“You spoke to him.”

He sighed, padding over to the chair nearest Storm, who was standing. When he sat, he doubled over, putting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers through his short hair. “I don’t know. Maybe, yeah.”

A quick, surprised hum left Shadrach, drawing Ira’s eye.

He couldn’t believe Nathan was actually agreeing.

He’d thought for sure that they would rally around the poor, defenseless paladin and insist the demons let him go.

This one must have really gotten under his skin, and apparently, Nathan was more cold-blooded than Shadrach had given him credit for.

First he’d asked Talon to kill Weston, and now he was going to let them torture a man.

What a time to be alive.

“Then who gets to do it?” he asked, probably too eagerly. He wanted to see this paladin that had everyone so tied up in knots.

“I think I should,” Talon said, his dark eyes glittering with humor.

“Hey, you called me here specifically for this,” Shadrach argued. “I want to see some blood.”

“You could take turns,” Malachi suggested, waving a hand through the air. “Flip a coin for who goes first.”

“Let’s not turn it into a game,” Nathan said wearily, and Storm squeezed his shoulder.

“Or let us decide,” Alex said, leaning back against Talon’s side. “I can think of a few things I’d rather be doing than sitting here waiting for you to finish torturing somebody in another room.”

That decided it. Talon would never pass up an opportunity to do anything with Alex. Shadrach didn’t understand it. As expected, Talon’s brows rose with interest, and Shadrach shook his head. Sometimes he barely recognized Talon.

Shadrach didn’t wait for permission. He grabbed a regular, non-blessed knife from the weapons table and walked into the back with a pep in his step.

The human’s heartbeat was audible through the door, and when he stepped inside, he was hit with the man’s scent, sweet and salty, like pomegranate and sea salt. His mouth watered, and he swallowed reflexively as he shut the door, enclosing them in the room together.

Talon had tied him to a chair in the middle of the room.

His long, dark red hair was pulled back in a bun, and a few strands hung loosely around his face.

A sea of freckles dotted his face, crowding across the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones.

His muscular body was pale, thick thighs covered by dark jeans.

The front of his navy blue T-shirt strained across his broad chest. He raised his head at the sound of Shadrach entering, and mossy, green-gold eyes met his.

One side of his face was red and currently swelling, and the faint scent of honey-sweet blood filled the room.

He straightened, clever gaze moving from Shadrach’s black eyes to the knife in his hand.

“You’re one of the demons who helped the guild during the attack.

I remember you and the other one killing the kalmach.

” His voice was deep and melodic—and far more relaxed than Shadrach would’ve expected.

Most humans panicked when they realized they were being held against their will.

This one appeared as though the ropes binding his wrists were nothing more than an inconvenience.

“I am.”

The human’s gaze sharpened at the sound of Shadrach’s voice. “What do you plan to do with me?” His gaze dropped to the knife and returned to Shadrach’s dark eyes. “Torture me?”

“That’s the plan,” Shadrach said flippantly. “Perhaps you could tell me exactly how long you’ve been spying on your own people for your commander.”

Most tellingly, Isaac’s expression smoothed over and his chest expanded on a long, slow inhale. “What do you care? What happens in the guild?—”

“ I don’t,” Shadrach said, stepping closer, and Isaac’s gaze fell to the knife again. “But you see, the humans in our little group consider those people allies. You’ve put them in danger and jeopardized the Sentinels in the process.”

“The Sentinels?”

Shadrach shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what they call themselves. Protectors. ”

“Sloan never said he would harm the—the rebels. The ones in the meetings.”

“And you trust him?” Perhaps this human wasn’t as clever and interesting as he seemed, if he was so gullible.

Isaac scowled.

“What about the Sentinels? Alex, Luke, Ira, Nathan? They were your friends, weren’t they?”

His mossy-gold eyes fell away. “They made their choices.”

“And they should die for it, is that right?”

“It’s not up to me.”

“You’re certainly not helping things by ratting out your friends.”

“They’re not my friends ,” he snapped. “I don’t have—” He stopped suddenly, turning away once more. It was a telling motion. When he wanted to hide, he turned away to shield his expression. He was more worried about hiding his true thoughts than he was about having a demon in his blindspot.

Shadrach studied the stubborn set to his jaw. Time to switch gears. “What’s Sloan planning for us?”

Isaac didn’t move. Impatience cut through Shadrach, and he closed the distance between them, grabbing Isaac’s jaw and forcing him to meet his eyes. They could do this the hard way, of course.

“What’s he planning?” he snarled.

Isaac spat in his face. A bolt of heat he didn’t want to identify went through him even as he reared back.

Angry that Isaac managed to take him by surprise and at his own body’s traitorous reaction, he punched him hard.

Isaac rocked to one side, but the sound that left him—it was laughter.

He tongued the inside of his cheek as he straightened, and Shadrach caught a glimpse of blood inside his mouth.

The sweet buzz of it filled the air, carried on his breathless exhales.

It was dizzying, and for a moment Shadrach forgot himself, breathing deep to fill his lungs with that intoxicating scent.

He was begrudgingly impressed. This human wouldn’t bend easily.

In the silence of their exchange, they stared at one another, each assessing in their own way.