Page 83 of Touched By Darkness

Alaric looks over at her and shakes his head as if he thinks she’s naive. “She’s losing control over the darkness. See that body on the floor?” He points at it again. “It could have been Daemon.”

Now Daemon snorts amusedly. “You don’t think I could handle her?”

“Were you in any shape to handle her last night?” Alaric barks.

I have to admit, it’s a good point. Daemon was weakening rapidly and was in no shape to defend himself. It’s lucky the angel got him help in time, or it wouldn’t have ended well.

“So we need to treat it as a murder attempt on the heir,” I tell them, but Daemon shakes his head.

“I don’t think they were after me. Whoever it was, stalks the little witch, not me.”

“Yet you’re the one who was stabbed, and she’s not.”

The look he gives me is anything but impressed, but then his attention gets diverted, like a rubber band that snaps back into place, when the angel enters the bedroom.

I have to admit, I’m staring, too. It’s impossible not to when the wet strands of her hair soak the straps of her dress that stretch tight around her tits. Her widened brown eyes look between us uncertainly.

Dariana is up on her feet and crossing her arms as she leers at the little witch. “Just admit that you’re working with Amenadiel.”

“Dari.” There’s an edge to Daemon’s voice, and Dariana stiffens slightly—the only sign she heard him.

However, she doesn’t back down, and her glower intensifies as if she wants to drill holes through the angel. “I don’t buy this bullshit you’re trying to sell.”

“Dari!” Daemon barks, shooting to his feet as his wings erupt behind him in a display of power. His eyes darken, swirling with the threat of violence, and Dariana reluctantly backs down.

“We can’t trust her,” she bites out, then throws one last lingering glare at the angel, who stands in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

The weight of Daemon’s scowl could incinerate a man on the spot, but Dari stands her ground, used to his anger. “I’m asking you to be careful.”

Before he can reply, and before anyone of us can say a thing, the little witch speaks up. “I’m not working with Amenadiel.”

“Care to explain this?” Alaric gestures around the room again.

Her throat jumps. “I…uh…I lost control.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dari sneers, and this time when Daemon directs his scowl at her, she visibly shrinks back.

I pick up a piece of what looks to be a part of a leg and inspect it in the sunlight that streams through the window. “What can you remember from last night?”

By the sheer state of the room, my guess isnot a lot,and she confirms as much when she tucks her damp hair behind her ear and wets her lips nervously.

“I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?”

A quick shake of her head. “I remember bringing the girl in here, and I remember Daemon on the bed…” She points at it. “He was bleeding profusely. I remember being scared.”

“What were you scared of?” Alaric asks, an intense look in his eyes, which is mirrored in Daemon’s as he tracks her movements.

“Myself, mainly... and Daemon dying.”

Seated on the bed, Dariana releases a soft, humorless laugh that tethers on a snort. It’s the kind of laugh that tells us she thinks the little witch is full of bullshit.

The angel ignores her. “I was scared I would hurt him.”

“Would you?” I ask, point blank, tossing the piece of the leg back down, and she meets my gaze.

Her eyes are uncertain and rimmed with tears, but then she grits her teeth and looks away. “You should take him home now that he’s healed.”

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