Demon's Trust (The Chronicles of Arcayos #1) - Raven Dark Page 0,15
wound.
“Holy shit.”
The wound is gone.
Hardly daring to breathe, I reach out and run my hand over his enormous, muscled chest. Through my leather glove, his skin feels as smooth and unmarked as it looks. The black veins are gone from his chest too, only a faint smear of that inky black poison left behind. I wish I could touch him properly, without my gloves, but I don’t dare. I have no desire to see what horrors are locked away inside this guy’s head.
The medallion on his chest isn’t glowing now.
Apparently, he’s fine. How the hell is that possible?
“Incredible.” Maybe he was telling the truth about my healing him faster after all.
I draw back, staring at him. He looks like some sort of warrior god. And is there a soft purring coming from him? He sounds like a big cat. The slow, rhythmic vibration is oddly soothing.
“What are you?” I whisper.
“Stay,” he murmurs sleepily. “Woman, stay with me.”
A smile pulls at my lips, and I wipe it off with a scowl. “Not gonna happen.”
I’m not leaving him alone in my apartment, but he’s healed now, so I’m not cuddling up to him again either, no matter how great his body feels.
I take my gun out of the drawer and clip the holster to my hip.
My golden shield winks up at me from the bottom of the drawer. I take it out, running my thumb over the badge.
This is the same shield I got when I took my oath after graduating from the academy at nineteen. I still remember Colburn handing me the shield himself.
My throat tightens. I clip on the badge and slide the drawer shut, refusing to look at the warrior on my couch.
Sighing, I check the time on my watch.
The hands have stopped. I shake my wrist and put it to my ear. No ticking. My watch is dead, just like my car was.
In the kitchen, I look at the clock. It’s still running, and it reads a little after ten in the morning.
Since my mysterious guest doesn’t seem to be waking up, I head to the bedroom. I’m still in my bra, with no shirt on. My cheeks grow hot at the thought of him catching an eyeful.
For the record, I don’t blush. In my line of work, a woman can’t be easily embarrassed, or the men eat her alive. But apparently this man has an effect on me no one else has.
I yank on a clean black T-shirt with the police department coat of arms on the front.
In the kitchen, I grab a can of tuna and try to coax Mister from under my bed. His yellow eyes narrow at me from the shadows. When I reach for him, he hisses.
It’s another strike against that overgrown bag of muscle that he scared the shit out of my cat.
“Come on. He’s not gonna hurt you. I hope.”
Mister just stares at me. Wiggling the can in front of him only causes him to sidle backward, farther under the bed.
“Suit yourself. You big coward.”
Wiping my hair out of my face, I leave the tuna at the foot of the bed for him and make myself some eggs and toast, keeping myself occupied. Trying not to look into the living room every five seconds.
I shake my head, sprinkling salt and pepper on my eggs. I made a promise to stay out of trouble. Pretty sure aiding and abetting a man who might be a murdering wacko is violating that promise big time.
After wolfing down my breakfast, I check on Arcayos, but he’s still asleep. I’d love a shower, but I’m not doing that with him here, so instead I take the chair across from the couch and lean back in it, watching him sleep.
His great chest rises and falls, his breathing even in slumber. And yes, there is a definite purring sound drifting from him. It’s a deep, low, contented sound.
With a sigh, I lean forward, resting my hands on my knees. “I hope the hell I’m not making a big mistake.”
I sit watching him for a long time.
At some point, I must have dropped off again, because a sharp prick of pain on my thighs jolts me from sleep.
Mister is sitting on my lap, his claws digging into my jeans. He’s growling low in his throat.
My head snaps up, and I give a jerk. The warrior is perched on the edge of my couch, his red eyes locked on my face. His face and hands still look human, smooth and