Demon's Trust (The Chronicles of Arcayos #1) - Raven Dark Page 0,21

glare of the sunlight.

I race to the window.

He’s gone. Cars pass by, horns honking, pedestrians hurrying this way and that. There’s no sign of Arcayos anywhere.

The hell? Where the fuck did he go?

I swallow, his words ringing in my head. He’ll be watching me…

Below the window, there’s nothing but a sheer brick wall and a patio surrounded by an iron fence.

A loud caw rings out, and a raven shoots off from the fence. The bird takes off into the sky and disappears into the brilliantly glaring sun.

I sink against the window frame, barely breathing. Fuck, I’ve gotten myself into a whole heap of trouble now; haven’t I?

5

Lying to the Boss

I’m still slumped against the window, looking out at the empty street when my phone rings. I hurry across the room into the bedroom. Sweat slicks my face. Sweat from the heat still burning my blood.

The adrenaline that had been coursing through my veins has ebbed, but the need is still there, thrumming under waves of anger. I run to the phone sitting on my nightstand and snatch the receiver up before the machine can get it.

“Yeah.”

“Cassidy?” Colburn’s voice.

“Nope. She’s not here right now.” Leave it to me to use levity when shit gets a little too real.

“Ha ha,” he says grumpily.

He sounds tired. If I’ve learned anything about my boss, it’s that Captain Jonathan Colburn is not a morning person. He’s either been up all night at a crime scene, or he’s just woken up.

“What can I do you for, Captain?”

Mister leaps up onto the bed, any sign of skittishness gone. He rubs himself against my side, and I stroke his ears. The big bad creature of the night is gone now. The house is all yours, buddy.

“I need you down at Hollow Park now,” Colburn says.

He doesn’t have to tell me what part of the park. Shit. First time I’d seen Arcayos in a year, and already he’s managed to completely fuck up my life.

“Where, sir?”

“The north side. There’s been a quadruple murder.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

I hang up, leaning on the nightstand, thoughts racing.

I can’t explain to the captain why I left that scene without telling him about Arcayos. Lie? To Colburn? The thought makes me feel physically ill.

Mister headbutts my side, meowing. Stroking his fur, I quash down the churning in my gut and kiss the top of his head.

“Behave yourself. Gotta go lie my ass off to my boss.”

In the living room, I slam the window shut and lock it. “God damn you, Arcayos.”

I toss off my clothes and take a quick shower. A cold one.

Awareness of Arcayos sits in the corner of my mind like a dark seed. Need for him throbs between my legs, the kind of low-key ache a girl gets when she hasn’t had any in a while.

I haven’t. With the way my psychic powers work, getting close to someone isn’t an option, not unless I want to risk them finding out what I can do. Which means when I do get it on with a guy, it’s a one-night stand. Being this horny for a demon who might be a murderer? Not good.

And that kiss. Oh, fuck, that kiss. The memory of his lips searing mine has me almost panting like an animal in heat. That kiss was like something out of one of the romance novels I read as a teen, the kind that never happens in real life.

I mutter curses at him and dry off, then throw on comfortable acid-wash denims and a plain, short-sleeved black tee. I mousse up my shoulder-length bob of curls and pull on my favorite black leather boots.

I hate shoes.

Grabbing my gun and badge, I lock my door and head out of the building.

It’s warm for early June, but a light breeze plays in the trees that grow alongside the fourplex. I clip my gun holster and my badge to my belt. Most of the cars are gone from the run-down apartment buildings that line both sides of the street, their drivers already at work at almost noon.

The Junk Pile sits baking in the afternoon sun, a dark blue ’76 Chevy Nova with peeling paint. It’s brown and pockmarked in places from years of hard New York winters. I love this car, but it’s probably on its last legs.

My clit is still tingling. Every step causes the seam of my jeans to rub against it, turning the tingle into a throb. In the drive, I glance around the property for any sign of