Demon's Trust (The Chronicles of Arcayos #1) - Raven Dark Page 0,22

a black cloak or red eyes. Arcayos said he’d be watching me. Is he there now?

I don’t see anyone around. I scan the trees. No birds either, ravens or otherwise.

At the door to my car, I freeze.

Awareness of him—not just need for him, but actual awareness of his presence—pulses in my thoughts so clearly that it glows like a nimbus.

“What. The hell.”

The low throbbing in my clit suddenly becomes a dark and frightening thing.

Oh god, did he do this to me? Was it just my being near him? Was it just something that happens with humans around demons? Or was it…

The kiss.

I scramble into the car, hands shaking on the wheel. The fucking bastard is in my head. Is he making me want him? With some sort of demon magic?

I squirm in my seat. The seam of my jeans strokes my clit, and I gasp.

“Oh, Christ.” If he’s messing with me… “Calm down, Cass. Don’t spaz out. Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Gathering myself, I head for H0llow Park.

Dread churns in my gut. I haven’t even spoken to Colburn about the scene yet, and already, I feel like a criminal. Like I’ve already betrayed him, told a thousand lies that each pierce like barbs.

Suddenly I can barely breathe. Why did Arcayos have to show up again? Hatred for that creature eats away at me.

The drive to the Hollow is a long one. You have to go through the Core, the downtown area in the middle of Chance, which doubles the travel time even when it isn’t rush hour. Which will only make things worse, putting off a conversation I just want to be over.

I’m downtown in half an hour. The usual traffic clogs the Core’s busy streets, the smell of exhaust, smog, and overused fat from the restaurants forcing me to keep the windows closed despite the heat that, in a car without AC, is stifling.

Sweat pours down my face. Is it just the summer heat, or is it him?

The dusty streets are loud and packed to the gills, everyone hurrying somewhere. The downtown theater displays this week’s fare. The Untouchables is playing right underneath Predator, and under that, Beverly Hills Cop II.

Oh, shit, Julie’s date. I’d forgotten about that. Was Mitch pissed at her?

I seize the worry over my friend’s love life, grabbing hold of it like a lifeline. It’s a dose of normalcy in a world that’s suddenly gone haywire.

I inch my way past a record store. Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance with Somebody blares out into the street. Man, Whitney, you can sing like nobody’s business, but now is so not the time. My life is being slowly pulled apart by that demon. After last night, I absolutely do not want to dance with anybody.

Forty minutes after I left my place, I pull up to the path in front of the building where Ricky was shot. I park my vehicle alongside the captain’s Lincoln Town Car. With its shiny grill and polished exterior, the black vehicle makes my car look like an eyesore.

Half a dozen cops, forensic guys, and one of the Hollow patrolmen are gathered around the scene. Yellow crime scene tape has already been put up to keep away the park-goers and the media. The patrolman’s horse is tethered to a nearby tree. The patrolman is talking to one of the Jackson twins. It’s Steve; I can tell by the streak of white in his short, curly black hair.

A headache is starting to pound behind my eyes. Shutting off the car, I pop a couple of aspirin from the glove compartment.

I lean forward, peering past the crime scene. A white media van for WKBG news sits parked at the other end of the field, two uniformed patrol officers keeping the reporters back.

“Figures.” I yank my keys out of the ignition.

Gallagher’s probably trying to push his way past those poor cops, ready to turn this thing into a media spectacle that’ll get the city buzzing with panic in hours. A gaggle of lookie-loos has already crowded at the edge of the field behind the news crew, several more officers keeping them back.

Who doesn’t love a good murder scene? Jesus.

I catch sight of my captain talking to one of the forensic guys who’s crouched on the ground looking over something. My stomach does an unpleasant somersault.

Better get this over with. I open the car door and climb out.

“Still driving the Crap Mobile, I see,” one of the detectives gathered near the cars for a smoke break says. He runs