Demon's Trust (The Chronicles of Arcayos #1) - Raven Dark Page 0,16

tanned. I relax a little.

Those eyes flick to the ornery cat. “Your feline dislikes me.”

That’s an understatement. Mister’s fur is standing on end. His claws jab hard, and I wince.

“He has a sense about people, you know.” I stroke his fur.

Arcayos’ eyes dance.

Of course, I’m leaving out that Mister hissed and spat at the captain when he visited too. I can’t tell if he’s pissed because someone’s invaded the home he’s claimed as his, or because he’s terrified of the killer in his midst.

“You are…” He pauses. “How do they say it here? Salty?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s all right. I like it.” Arcayos stands and slips off his cloak, his muscles rippling fantastically with his every movement. He drapes his cloak over the back of my couch.

A blush heats my cheeks. Again. I hate the warmth that spreads through me at his words.

With his focus elsewhere, I drink in the sight of him. He has such strange clothes. A deep-crimson jacket folded over his chest, held in place by a wide red belt. Matching pants that cover his long, powerful legs. Leather boots. The clothes remind me of the karate gi I wear while practicing, only mine is coarse white cloth, and his looks like silk and older in style. Ryan, total geek that he is, would probably say he looks like a Jedi, especially with the cloak on.

Turning back to me, Arcayos smirks. Shit. He’s caught me checking him out. I clear my throat, tearing my eyes away. Petting Mister’s fur with long, comforting strokes. He stops growling at least.

The warrior takes a seat, leaning forward with his hands folded under his chin, elbows on his knees, eyes intent on me. Half-hidden by his jacket, the medallion’s thick rope chain glints in the light from the overhead fixture.

“How are you feeling?” I ask tightly.

“I am alive, Cassidy Morgan. Thanks to you.”

Except under the gratitude, there is a rumble of irritation. He doesn’t like that a woman saved him.

“It’s just Cassidy.”

He smiles.

“Why the gloves?” Arcayos nods to my hand, watching it pass over Mister’s thick fur. “You even slept with them on last night.”

It takes effort to keep my face neutral. There is something about this man that makes me want to answer him.

I set Mister on the floor and stand.

“Since you aren’t dying anymore…” I draw my gun, pointing it at him. “Stand up.”

Arcayos’ brow flicks up. His casualness makes me feel unhinged.

“Now!” I snap.

He slowly rises to his feet.

Jesus, he’s a fucking mountain. I have to crane my neck to keep my eyes on his. I step back a pace and aim the gun at his heart.

Slowly, he stalks toward me as if I’m not even armed, his movements graceful as a feline. His mouth is a gorgeous bow of casual indifference. I swallow.

The warrior prowls forward until the gun is pressed between his pectorals, right above that medallion.

His hand lances out. The gun is in his grip, snatched so fast his hand was a blur.

Arcayos presses the gun into his palm.

“What are you doing?” I shout, lunging for him.

He fires.

The bullet goes off with a soft thump, his palm muffling the sound. There’s a flash of that electric energy that I saw around him when Ponyboy fired at him.

Fuck. With the shock of everything that happened, I forgot about that force field.

Arcayos holds the bullet up between his fingers, squeezing them together. The bullet crinkles. He takes my hand, setting the bullet gently into my gloved palm. “A memento for you.”

I stare at the mangled bullet, stunned. God, Ryan would die.

I drop my arms helplessly. This man could do anything he wanted to me, and I can’t stop him.

“I get the point,” I mutter, pocketing the projectile.

Stepping forward, he towers over me. His fingers cup my chin with a dangerous sort of slowness. “No, I don’t believe you do.”

His rough, calloused palm, though not hot now, sears my blood. Adrenaline pumps in my veins, dizzying in its intensity. My pulse pounds in my throat.

“Had you shot me when that poison was still in my system, it would have hurt like the Fires of the In Between. Unless I am wounded with a Hellinon blade, it does nothing.”

I blink up at him as indifferently as I can manage.

“That said,” he goes on in his gorgeous, deep voice, “strike me in any way again, and you will not like the consequences.”

Consequences? My body tenses with heat.

Where the hell did that come from? I’ve spent my life making myself hard in front