Drowning In The Dark - Pippa DaCosta Page 0,30

impossible combination of human and demon. Humans and demons are connected.” She moved around the canteen table and sat opposite me. “Most demons are driven by basic needs. They want, they achieve. Simple. But a select few are different. I don’t know a great deal about the princes, Muse. None of us do. There are demons coming through the veil we’ve never seen before. I suspect some demons have more in common with us than they allow themselves to believe.”

She wouldn’t say that if she’d seen the netherworld with her own eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“Then how do you account for the vehemence with which he speaks of you?” I winced and gulped my coffee, and she continued. “If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t waste the effort of harboring hatred. You know as well as I do, they waste nothing.”

If she was trying to make me feel better, it really wasn’t working. “You need to let him go.” I shook my head and licked coffee from my lips. “This isn’t right.”

“You grew up with him, didn’t you?”

“Here, yes. I matured in the netherworld. But he brought me here and made me human.”

“Why would he do that?”

Because he was playing the long game, crafting me, not unlike my old owner had done. Damien molded me into his ruined work of abused art. Akil was sharpening me the same way I’d once crafted swords, hammering out the imperfections, driving the stubborn metal into the shape I desired. Or so I suspected. He’d admitted I was his weapon. “His reasons are his own.”

“Could it be that he genuinely cares?”

He’d said as much, but what Akil said and what Akil meant were two very different things. “No. He’s demon.”

“Right now, he’s not.”

I blinked over my coffee cup. “What do you mean?”

“He’s as close to human now as he’s ever going to be. Don’t you think that’s why he’s reacting like he is? With such passion. Demons are not passionate, Muse.”

“He’s just fighting for freedom. He’ll say and do anything.”

She nodded. “Talk with him. We’ll further this discussion once you have. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?” She beamed and left me alone with my cold coffee and muddled expression. Fascinating? No. Insane? Yes.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The door to Akil’s cell opened with an audible hiss like an exhaled breath. Arms straight at my sides, hands clenched into fists, and throat dry, I cleared my thoughts and drove courage into my limbs, willing them forward. It wasn’t exactly fear holding me back, but the vestiges of denial. I didn’t want this to be real. And yet, as I stepped through the doorway and swept my gaze immediately toward the seething mass of man chained to the wall, fear tingled across my flesh. Something like a whisper caressed the back of my neck, raising the fine hairs. The door hissed shut. Silence descended. My feet wouldn’t carry me forward. My body had its own ideas of self-preservation. I stared, barely blinking, and he stared right back. He was strung up by the wrists, and the chains had retracted, dragging him with them, so he had no choice but to stand with his back against the wall, arms spread, muscles tight. He didn’t move. Not even a quiver. Mannequin still. But as I stepped forward, breaking out of my icy cage, his eyes mercilessly tracked me, dark eyes, their centers black, edges kissed by burnt amber. With each step, his stare whittled away my resolve. By the time I’d walked around so that the mirrored-glass was at my back, fear twitched through my fingers and sprinkled perspiration in my hairline. It seemed stifling in that brightly lit room, but the heat didn’t come from Akil. The usual crawl of his element was utterly absent. Was it mine? I swept a hand through my hair, gathered it back in a lose bunch, trying to cool my skin. Behind the glass, Adam and half a dozen armed guards waited. Sabine was there too. We had an audience, but I only had eyes for Akil.

They’d at least given him sweats to wear, although in a way, it only further humanized him. When, as Mammon, he’d first revealed his human vessel to me, Akil had emerged naked and all the more bedazzling for the swathe of bronze skin. Demons didn’t care for clothing. He’d rather be strung up naked.

Damn, what was he doing here? How had this happened?

A snarl quivered his top lip, followed by a growl bubbling up his throat. “Do not pity

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