“Are you saying you're not human?” I ask. I mean to come across as skeptically sane, but I really just sound like a mouse caught in a trap. Thelion—Gideon—flops down on the couch with a huff.
“Right. Neither is Cal.” He raises one eyebrow and stares me down. “And neither are you.”
I manage not to flinch from pure force of habit. He can't know. No one knows. I've been so careful.
I force a brittle laugh.
“Okay, I don't know what fantasy novel you’re living in, but I'm just a normal,humanwoman with bad taste in men.” I shrug. “There's absolutely nothing special about me.”
Even as the lies roll off my tongue, it’s clear they don’t believe me. Gideon actually looks at me like my response disappoints him, but the next words out of Callum’s mouth destroy my hope of keeping them completely in the dark.
“I don't know what you are and you don't have to tell me. But you don’t have to pretend. We could sense it from ten feet away.”
I prepare to hold my ground, then reconsider. He said I didn't have to tell them anything. I can’t risk accidentally revealing something to these strangers by continuing to lie. The partial truth is my best bet.
“As you guessed, Gideon is a shifter,” Callum says. He looks at his friend and shakes his head slightly before focusing back on me. “He can pick his form, but he prefers the lion you saw before. I'm a little different.” He scratches the back of his neck, his eyes boring a hole into the glass in my hand as he continues. “I’m... a demon. I'm not evil or anything. It's just how my kind are categorized.”
He finishes the explanation in a rush, and I blink in shock. I can’t believe he’s telling me this. They don’t even know me. It’s the stupid kind of risk only a person completely confident in their ability to protect themselves would take. I’ve never had that luxury. In fact—wait, why is this man blushing?Is he embarrassed?
It’s so ridiculous that I blame my shock for what happens next.
“Do you turn red and sprout a tail?” I tease, eying him up and down deliberately. I’m not sure which of us is more stunned by my joke. The demon’s mouth drops open, then his entire expression turns predatory. Within seconds, I find myself the full target of the most intense smolder I've ever seen.
The wall is holding me up for a different reason now.
Gideon groans loudly, breaking our tense, embarrassing stare-off and dragging a pillow over his lap.
“Knock it off, you slut. This conversation is hard enough without a fucking hard on.” His complaint registers in my short-circuiting brain.Did he really just call me a slut?
Before I can express my outrage, Callum turns the hypnotic expression toward his friend. Gideon freezes, but recovers quickly, lobbing the pillow at the demon’s face to break the connection. They both laugh, and even though I'm confused, scared, and oddly overheated, I'm tempted to join in.
It’s official. I’ve actually lost my mind.
The events of the last twenty-four hours are catching up to me as my exhaustion overpowers my survival instincts. Like they can sense the change, they both face me again. The full focus of their combined attention is intense.
“Look, I’m sure you’re about to pass out,” Callum says. “If you want to crash here, I swear nothing and no one will touch you as long as you want to stay. I give you my word.” All thelaughter is gone from his voice. I feel his black eyes searching my face.
I let my eyelids slip shut. I can’t think straight while he’s staring at me like that. To my shock, I think I might believe him. I do my standard safety assessment. My stomach churns. It’s horribly risky, but these guys might actually be my best option for now.
Admittedly, my odds aren’t great either way. It’s dark. I don’t know where I am. My adrenaline is wearing off, and I’ve barely slept at all since leaving the bar.
This decision could be the last one I ever make, but what choice do I have? Gritting my teeth, I give them both a hesitant nod. The look they exchange is so relieved I almost tell them I’ve changed my mind.
My eyelids droop. I’ll reassess after a few hours of sleep.
When Callum leads me up the stairs and down the hall, I follow on autopilot, noting the exits. He leaves awkwardly after showing me to a cozy guest bedroom with an attached bathroom.
I find it stocked with towels and products. Even though I can barely keep my eyes open, I lock the door and take a quick shower. It's been so long since I've had access to hot water, I’m not about to waste the luxury. Gently, I wash the grime off of my body and take stock of the clusters of bruises, being extra careful to keep the bandages dry around my scrapes.
I've had worse, but I can tell I'll be feeling this fight for a while. I wash out my hair, letting the conditioner sit on the long, dark strands for a few minutes before rinsing it out.
Five minutes later, I’m running a comb through the tangles in my hair and grimacing as I slide back into my filthy clothes. When I return to the bedroom, I could cry with relief. My duffle is sitting neatly by the bed. It looks shabby compared to the rest of the room, but that bag holds everything I own.
Still, I don’t like that one of them came in here to drop it off while I was vulnerable in the shower. I reach for the bag, then freeze. The pocketknife I stabbed the drifter with is propped on top. I grab it with shaky fingers. Memories of blood trickling down the hilt onto my hand flood my brain.
It’s going to be gross... except it isn’t.
Someone cleaned the blood from the blade and made sure I would find it first thing. It’s a small gesture. The knife wouldn’t do a damn thing against an actual lion, but somehow I feel better. Not enough to get lulled into a false sense of complacency, though.
