Page 21 of The Devil and His Sparrow

Heat swept up my face and burned my ears. I placed my hands on top of Nahla’s and huffed a small laugh. “Yes, Nahla. I orgasmed.”

Her excitement reappeared in full force, and she shook me in her celebration. “So it was good? Zagan was as deliciously talented as the rumors say?”

I wanted to roll my eyes, because while what he’d done with his tongue had most definitely been wonderful, the sex was awful. But I couldn’t say that.

“Yeah,” I answered. “He was very good at it.”

We continued reminiscing about last night and nursing the rest of the coffee before Nahla had to head out. She was meeting her parents for brunch, and even though the Bayraks offered for me to join them, I declined. I was still pretty wiped out from the night before and needed some alone time to process it all.

As soon as I shut the door behind Nahla, I slumped against it. All of my insides were wound tight with apprehension. I’d finally lived a little, let myself step just a hair outside of the box I’d always stayed in. And what did that get me?

A freaking demon.

But also a chance to save my sister. That alone kept me from regretting what I did.

I pushed away from the door and gathered Nahla’s empty mug to put in the dishwasher. The quiet sounds of me tidying about the kitchen were all that filled the vast room, and the near quiet was starting to drive me a little crazy. It gave my mind room to wander, and that meant acknowledging the heavy weight of dread.

It felt like at any moment, my mom was going to burst through my front door, screaming that she’d caught me. She’d somehow known I’d gone out and, worse, had premarital sex. I’d lose what little freedom I had. She’d take away my food, leaving only bread and water. Or she’d have the water to my apartment cut off so I’d have to stay as dirty and filthy as she thought I was for opening my legs for a man.

“Get out of your head,” I mumbled to myself.

I finished wiping down the non-existent dirt on the kitchen counters and looked at my closed laptop on the counter. My fingers itched to get on YouTube and play one—just one—song. Like Saint-Saëns, “The Carnival of the Animals” or Debussy’s, “Suite Bergamasque.”

It was moments like this when I was alone with nothing but silence and my spiraling thoughts that the armor I’d built up against my desires really fractured. Temptation called louder, and I had to squeeze the edge of the counter to keep my feet from carrying me to the laptop.

To music.

I’d always had a love for music. One could say I was bred for it. My dad was a music teacher, and he’d taught me everything I knew about piano. He’d always encouraged me in my pursuit of becoming a professional pianist. When he died, my dream and freedom went with him. I was left with a grieving heart and a mother who despised my love for all things music and piano.

She sold my piano and used the money to get Gemma swim lessons. She burned my music sheets and had me kneel in front of the fireplace to watch. She took all of mine and Dad’s records—Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, all of the great classical composers—and made me snap each and every one in half while she towered over me with crossed arms and sharp eyes.

There was no room for music in my life, she’d said.

I never touched a piano after that. I hadn’t listened to music, either.

Sure, I’d heard music out and about or when I was around Nahla. But I never truly listened. Even when I was alone and could sneak a listen to a few pieces, I held firm in my resistance, the loud crack of the records snapping in half and the crackling of fire eating away at paper filling my head and keeping me from daring.

I took a deep breath and bent over to press my head onto the marble of the island top. I let the cold seep into my skin, hoping it would numb the dull ache of longing that had sprouted inside me.

“Fuck. I like this view.”

I gasped and whipped around to find Zagan standing in my living room, smirking as his eyes remained where I’d just been bent over the island. He didn’t look like he did the last time I saw him. His true form was hidden once more, masked by his blue eyes, normal looking teeth, and human features. He sported a form fitting black t-shirt and black pants, all of which made my mouth water against my will. Even knowing what I knew, he was still the picture of everything I secretly wanted.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded in a startled breath. “How did you get in here?”

“Demon, remember?” he deadpanned. “I can find you through our connection and poof.” He made an explosion gesture with his hands. “I’m there.”

I stared at him, dumfounded. “What if I wasn’t alone? What if people were here? Do you not care about exposing yourself?”

“I hid in the shadows to make sure you were alone before appearing. If someone was here, they wouldn’t have seen anything but normal shadows until I stepped out of them.” His gaze left me and slowly took in the kitchen and living room. “Speaking of here … Is this your place?”

I inched into the living room but kept a good distance away from him. I didn’t really know him, but he was a demon, for crying out loud. Who knew how dangerous he was.

“Yes,” I finally answered as I put the couch between us. “Now, can you leave? I’m not allowed to have guys here.”

That got his attention. He met my eyes with a puzzled frown. “You’re an adult. What do you mean you can’t have guys here?”

A rush of embarrassment flooded me like hot magma. I looked away from him and tucked some hair behind my ear. “You don’t understand. My mom pays for this apartment. So even though I live here, it’s technically hers. Her apartment, her rules.”

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