Page 29 of Touched By Sin
“But it’s not like you care about her feelings, right?”
Daemon leans back, spreading his legs. “No, I fucking don’t.”
Liar.
“Okay, then,” Ronan replies, and it’s obvious by his tone of voice that he doesn’t believe Daemon for a second. We both know Daemon is lying to himself.
“Let’s go hunt.”
We follow him out into the hallway. Daemon lights up a cigarette, then walks ahead with determined steps to Aurelia’s bedroom. As he bangs on her door, he gives us a brief glance while taking a deep pull on the cigarette. Smoke leaks out past his lips before he sucks it back in and bangs on her door again, harder this time. “Open up, little angel!”
The door slowly creaks open, and her blue eyes widen as she takes us in—three testosterone-filled men with hungry eyes and aching fangs. After inching the door open, she slides out and sinks back against the mahogany wood.
“You’re coming with us,” Daemon orders, bringing the cigarette up to his mouth. Smoke curls in the air, and the flames from the torches on the walls flicker in her blue eyes.
“Where?”
“I wasn’t fucking asking.” Daemon crushes the cigarette under his boot. “Get moving.”
She yelps when he grasps her neck, forcing her to walk. He’s rough with her, more so than I’ve seen with any girl.
He likes her but won’t admit it.
* * *
Crossingthe border to the human lands is something we’re so used to that we don’t bat an eyelid, but our little angel’s eyes are wide and curious as she takes in the back alley. Spinning in a circle, her skirt flares around her thighs. The fog is dense tonight; steam comes out of the sewers nearby, and it reeks of piss and garbage.
“Welcome to the city,” I drawl, walking ahead.
“Where are you going?” Her bare feet pad on the concrete. We should have made her put on her shoes, but it’s too late now. “The humans will see your wings.”
“Not true,” Ronan comments. “Humans only see what their minds are capable of perceiving. They live in a world where they’re taught from childhood that nothing exists outside of their scientific articles. What others tell them is ‘true,’ and it makes them blind to that which can’t be explained with logic. God could stare them in the face and they wouldn’t see him. Instead, they explain away his existence with some theory about how their brain interprets reality based on some traumatic event in their childhood, thus creating visions that aren’t real. They could walk past a shifter in the street and think it’s a weird-looking dog. If it transformed into its human shape, they’d blame what they saw on schizophrenia. Me and my brothers could fly in the sky, and they would explain it as some weird reflection of light.”
“You’re saying they won’t see your wings?”
“Not until they believe. And they won’t believe until their lives are in mortal danger. Then they’re ready to believe in almost anything to save their skin.”
She follows us out of the alley. The streets are almost empty at this hour of the night, except for groups of partygoers hanging around outside the bars. My little angel takes it all in, her bright, blue eyes shining with awe. She’s stunning beneath the soft glow of the streetlights.
We enter a nightclub, then weave through bodies until we reach a spacious dance floor. The walls pulse with the heavy beat of the music, and the air is thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol. Women in short dresses and high heels dance provocatively while men eye them up like meals.
“What are we doing here?” Angel shouts over the music.
Daemon already has his eyes set on someone—a girl with fiery hair and pale, freckled skin. The red dress she wears fits her like a second skin, conforming to her soft curves while she moves in time with the sultry beat. Daemon steps up behind the human girl, and Angel grits her jaw when he pulls her back against his chest. They move fluently together. Daemon works his magic right before our eyes, priming his prey and subduing her with his scent and strong hands.
Our little angel, driven by the instinct to protect her territory, tries to stride past. I pull her back, banding my arm around her waist. She can’t see it yet, but her primal desires are at the forefront, clouding her vision.
“Now is not the time. I can’t let you interrupt the hunt.”
Stiffening, she cranes her neck to look up at me. “What do you mean by that?”
It’s cute how naive she is sometimes. “Look,” I order, tipping my chin toward the scene in front of us. I can practically hear the little angel grind her teeth when Daemon buries his nose in the girl’s neck. She can’t see the bigger picture yet.
“Let me go,” she orders, extracting herself from my arm, and I stare after her as she storms off in the opposite direction.
“Should we follow after her?” Ronan asks.
“Leave her be. She needs us to get back.”
