Page 72 of Burn for the Devil

“I don’t have a mother. I don’t know who she was, could be anyone. My father is a deceptively dangerous man and I have as little to do with him as possible.” Concern was etched on his face.

I teased, trying to break the tension, “The devil has parents?” Anxiety was building inside me, and I wanted it to stop, I wanted to go home.

Ramone’s mouth slid to the side. “I do. My father has certain expectations for me that I have failed to live up to recently.”

“And what’s that?” I knew all too well the weight of failing to live up to expectations.

“For one, I didn’t kill my ex, and secondly—I didn’t choose a woman he would approve of. Instead, I chose you.”

Stunned, I replied, “I don’t want to interfere with your family.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not. And do you really think I’d give you up, let you go?” Ramone slowly stalked toward me. “That’s not going to happen.”

It was getting harder to think. The air held an ominous quality, reminding me of the threat Ramone had said was aimed at me, making me a target. Supposedly I’d come from a long line of witches. Matthew and Ammar had sought me out for this reason—Ammar because of my visions and Matthew due to my lineage, supposedly. I didn’t have enough knowledge to fully understand what was going on. It made sense I’d run a shop like the one I owned, in light of the revelations. I just didn’t expect this outcome, to have all these strange things happen to me or to feel as connected to this man as I did.

The fact was, I barely knew Ramone, not really. I didn’t even know his birthday or his favorite color. But at the same time, I felt like Iknewhim. The strange and compelling connection between us had me feeling as if I’d always known him even though I had no explanation for why that’d be possible.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked, suddenly.

Ramone whipped his head around, brows furrowed. “What? Black.”

“Why am I not surprised. Your favorite food?”

“You.” He huffed, as if I should’ve known the answer. “Why are you asking these asinine questions?”

Yes, the timing was off, but they seemed essential. I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance to ask. “They’re important; I barely know you.” He scoffed at my words.

The lights dimmed in the room before the air appeared to take on an orange tint in the corners of my peripheral vision. Every time I moved my head to double-check what I thought I saw, it disappeared.

“I don’t think we can leave,” Ramone said solemnly, walking back over to me. “You do know me,” he said, trying to reassure me after several seconds passed.

He grabbed my arm, hanging on to me as if I’d escape. “The things I do know, they aren’t exactly favorable,” I remarked.

“Yet you keep coming back for more. May I remind you I’ve never hurt you?”

It was my turn to scoff. “Remember that time you imprisoned me for a year?”

“I look forward to hearing about that for eternity.” Ramone looked resigned.

Continuing with my line of questioning, I asked, “What was your childhood like?”

If I’d thought to take a photo of the incredulous look on his face I would’ve. “Childhood? Have you met my father? I think you’re about to.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

He was pacing short steps in front of me now, glancing at me before turning his attention back to our surroundings. I was distracting him with questions while he had a lot on his mind, I could tell. “I don’t remember much of being a child, of my early years, it was so long ago. I’m not positive I ever was one.”

Finally, I caught the orange mist in a corner. Staring at it, I dared it to vanish, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. “That’s an odd thing to say. How old are you?”

“Several hundred years. Leave the inquisition for when we get home.”

“Home?”

Ramone leveled a stern gaze at me. “Samantha, I’m trying?—”

“Hello darlings, did I interrupt your first fight?”

Whirling around, I was faced with a man with bright blond hair and blindingly blue eyes. Ramone yanked me to the side, out of the reach of the individual who’d appeared out of nowhere.

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