Page 22 of The Devil and His Sparrow

He scoffed and went back to snooping around the living room. “Sounds controlling to me, but whatever.” He approached the bare wall and ran his tattooed hand along it as he walked around the living room and started down the hall. Even though he was mumbling to himself, I still heard him say, “Is this your place or the fucking model unit the building uses for showings?”

“It’s mine!” I yelled, even though he didn’t actually ask me the question. “Can you—Hey!”

I started after him as he unabashedly swept into my bedroom. When I rounded the corner, he was already sitting on the edge of my unmade bed—thank you, Nahla—leaned back on his hands and looking around.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I fumed.

“I’m no interior designer or anything, but your place feels cold.” He waved his hand around my mostly bare room. “Where’s all your photos of you and your girlfriends or your pile of messy clothes? Where’s the life in your room? Or are you just that boring?”

Another wave of self-consciousness hit me. It was true my place didn’t really feel … lived in. But that was how my mom liked things. No clutter. Neutral color palette. No distractions from my schooling.

“This doesn’t feel like the room of a college girl,” Zagan added on with another glance around the room.

Meeting my breaking point with this judgmental asshat, I snapped, “Yeah well, not everyone can do as they please. Would I love a purple comforter or shelves lined with nothing but romance books or a whole freaking record player to play as loud as I want to? Abso-freaking-lutely, but that’s just not a reality for me. It has nothing to do with me being boring or whatever else you might think about me. You don’t know my situation, so why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself?”

Instead of trying to placate me or get snappy right back over my sudden outburst, Zagan grinned and cocked his head. “Not an opinion, Sparrow. I was merely making an observation. Stating a fact. I see we don’t like being confronted with truths, though. Noted.”

“I’m sorry. Aren’t you the one living a literal lie?” I fired back while crossing my arms. “A demon posing as a human?”

“We weren’t talking about me.”

That smirk was still on his stupid face. Seeing it made my blood boil and made me want to feel those lips on me again, all at once.

Which only pissed me off more.

“Forget it,” I huffed. I ran a hand through my long hair and leaned against my door frame. I was still nervous about getting too close to him. “What did you come here for?”

He flashed me a look like I should’ve known why he was here. “Our deal. I’m hungry. In case you’ve forgotten, I never got to eat last night after days of already abstaining from sex. I need fuel.”

He was here to finish what we’d barely even started. The reminder of the previous evening sent a flush up my cheeks. I cleared my throat and glanced away from him. I wasn’t ready to repeat that horrible experience.

“Not until you do your part,” I said.

He sighed. “I figured you’d say that. That’s why I’m also here to do just that. Let’s go see your sister so I can give her some blood.”

The change in subject to Gemma and the idea of potentially saving her life put some civility back into my voice. “You said she needs to drink a little at a time, right?”

He nodded, and the muscles in his torso pulled at his shirt as he shifted on the bed. It took a lot more willpower than I cared to admit to focus on his words as he explained, “We can mix a couple drops into a drink of hers or something. Giving her that every week should do something. Hopefully.”

I swallowed hard. There was a risk this wasn’t going to work. There was a risk that it might make her sicker. But my heart had heard there was a chance of healing her, of saving her, and it had latched onto that bit of hope like a leech. I couldn’t sit back and watch my sister suffer anymore. If I could do something to help her, I had to try.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s—”

My phone started going off. I dug it out of my jeans, and my heart fell through me like a cinder block in water when I saw the name on the screen.

“Frick,” I hissed. I glanced warily at Zagan, who stared at the phone in my hands with far too much curiosity. I ignored his interest and returned to the living room. My heart raced as I answered and tried to keep the dread out of my voice. “Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, her tone all business.

Shit. Did she know? Did she know I’d gone out last night? Did she know there was a guy inside my house at this very moment?

“Just finished cleaning up the kitchen,” I answered calmly.

I leaned my back against the counter, and when I looked up at the living room, my eyes widened. Zagan had moved back out here, and he was now rummaging around inside my backpack, which had been propped by the couch.

“What are your plans for today?” she questioned.

I waved a hand at Zagan to get his attention. When he looked up at me, I motioned for him to get back. He ignored me with a roll of his eyes, going back to his search of my textbooks. He pulled out my Urban Policy and Economic Development book. With the look that crossed his face as he flipped through it, you’d think he’d just stumbled upon some foul smelling garbage or something.

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