Demon's Trust (The Chronicles of Arcayos #1) - Raven Dark Page 0,17

of men who act like this. Yet his touch makes me want to melt into him.

It takes effort not to tell him to take his hand off me. He won’t kill me. He’s all protection when it comes to me. But he is crazy dangerous, and his protectiveness doesn’t mean he won’t harm me if he sees fit to put me in my place.

Saying nothing that would give him ammunition, I nod.

Arcayos flips my gun around and hands it to me, grip first. Then he saunters over to my couch and sits down as if he owns the place.

“Now that we have that straight, what would you have done to me had I cooperated, Cassidy Morgan?”

I bite back the urge to tell him it’s just Cassidy. It’s useless.

Unwilling to let him know he scares the shit out of me, I take a seat in the chair. “I wasn’t about to sit here and chat it up with a serial-killing maniac without taking some precautions. I was going to handcuff you.”

He smiles, and I notice that his fangs are gone.

“Which I’m guessing is about as useful as trying to shoot you,” I add.

“Yes.”

“You could break the cuffs easily, right?”

He gives a nod.

“And I suppose if I start asking you questions, you’ll blow them off again.”

He sits back, laying his arms across the back of my couch. “No.”

I scrunch my brows. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Whether I like it or not, I owe you my life,” he says. “And I have made it my mission to protect you. If you are going to follow my rules, you have to know what they are.”

His rules? There he goes with that damned chauvinistic authority again.

It would have been easy to point out that he saved my life twice, which means I actually still owe him, but if his thinking it’s the reverse gets me answers, I’ll take it.

“What do you wish to know?” he asks.

“Everything.”

“That would take days. And there are some things I cannot tell you.”

“Well, then lets start with the easy questions.”

He nods, waiting.

I lick my lips. “What… what are you?”

4

Questions and Answers

Arcayos rises from the couch and walks slowly to the window behind it, his eyes seemingly on the view of the city below. Back straight, giant shoulders square, he looks like a hardened, proud warrior of some bygone era. So much so that it’s almost overwhelming to watch him.

When he speaks, his great, rumbling voice is so low it’s almost a rasp.

“I am a Tae’agul.”

“A what?”

He turns to me. The sunlight casts a glare that reduces his bulk to a shadow, making his blazing red eyes stand out, spheres of supernatural power.

“Here, you would call them demons,” he says.

My back stiffens in alarm. “What, you mean you sold your soul to the devil?”

“I am not certain I have a soul to sell.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tae’agul do not have souls. They are created without one. They have no humanity. They know only destruction. Chaos. Death.” Disgust vibrates from the quiet growl of his voice. “Every word they tell you is either a lie, or a truth meant to manipulate. Trust nothing an Agul says, for there is always a lie in it somewhere.”

I stare, my brain sluggish. This can’t be real.

“A Tae’agul’s entire purpose on Earth is to sow seeds of destruction and create discord for the pleasure of their master,” he adds.

“Wait.” I stand slowly. “You’re serious? You’re telling me you don’t have a soul?”

“It is more complicated than that, Cassidy Morgan.”

I glance at the locked door, blowing out a breath. “Why do I have a feeling it was a bad idea to bring you to my apartment?”

“I will not harm you.”

“But hang on, though. You saved me. If these Tagal have—”

“Tae’agul,” he corrects, pronouncing it slowly. The word sounds warlike and otherworldly.

“If these… Tae’agul have no humanity, why did you save me? And how come you aren’t trying to kill me?”

“I am half human.”

I blink at him. “How the hell is that possible?”

He pulls his gaze away. Once more, he turns to the window, crosses those bulging arms.

“Arcayos?”

The muscles in his back ripple, the set of his shoulders tight. “There are some things you are better off not knowing.”

I’m not sure what I hear in his voice. Pain? Sadness? Disgust? Shame? Whatever the case, the urge to go to him, to offer some measure of comfort is almost overpowering. I shouldn’t care about a creature who is half demon, but I can’t help it. He saved my life. He can’t be