“Nice, right?”
I loop it around my neck, adjusting the length so it’s even. “So?”
“It’s perfect for you.”
He needs to be paid for this; it can’t be a gift, or Mastyx may get the wrong idea. I reach into my strongbox and remove a twenty-dollar bill. Ethan pushes it back toward me when I offer it to him. “Oh, no. It’s a gift.”
“I can’t accept any gifts.” I slide the scarf off my head and drop it on the table. “Sorry.”
The scarf slides over to me. “Why? Will your boyfriend get mad?” He taps the scarf gently with his pointer, his face twisting with a concerned look. “Is that who did that to your face and left those marks on your neck?”
I cover my cheek with a trembling hand.
Ethan takes a step closer. “Is he here? Do you need me to walk you to your car?”
“No.” I grab my box and turn to walk away.
“Contessa, wait.” He runs in front of me with his hand up, holding the scarf. “Just take it. I’ll take the twenty you left on the table so you can say you bought it.”
“Fine.” I struggle to hold the box and reach for the scarf at the same time.
Before I have a chance to react, Ethan doubles the scarf, slides it over my head and adjusts its length. “There. It hides most of the red marks on your neck, except the one by your jawline.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out another business card. “Here’s my card again. If you need to get away, I can help.”
I offer him a sheepish smile. His kindness takes me by surprise, and I hesitate, my hand hovering between us, before accepting the card. “Thanks.”
He turns away from me and glances back a few times over his shoulder as he makes his way back to his table. I walk briskly back to my car, set the box on the ground and fight for my life to get the fucking trunk open. Once it pries free, I rest my box inside, push the trunk closed, yank the driver’s side door of the Nova open and flop awkwardly into the seat, chattering my teeth and sending a sharp pain through my torso.
“Fuck,” I say to the space around me before slamming the door closed. I take a few deep breaths before grabbing the visor and pulling it down with trembling hands. The reflection staring back at me isn’t my own. It belongs to someone who appears hauntingly older. My hair looks like I fell asleep after a shower—a disheveled mess—and a piece of what seems to be wet toilet paper wraps around a lock of my hair. I gag and cover my mouth before focusing on the darkening mark on my cheek. It’s definitely going to bruise. Red marks dot my upper and lower arms from being manhandled by the rapist. I pull the scarf down gently and examine the ones on my neck. They’re going to bruise as well.
My parents will definitely notice.
Shit. What do I do? I rest my arms across the steering wheel and lean my forehead against them, blowing out a frustrated breath. The sound of a siren wailing draws my eyes to the exit. Racing into the lot is a fire truck followed by two state troopers. They speed down the pathway, blaring their horns at a crowd of pedestrians dotting the road leading to the bleachers. I climb out of the car and stand there holding the door by its frame.
Smoke billows into the sky like black clouds darkening the sun. Craft vendors and shoppers flock to the scene, trying to get a glimpse of the show that’s unfolding before their eyes. Little do they know they missed the main event.
A sense of relief and relaxation warms my body, even as the air turns chilly. Mastyx, although a demon and someone who caused me excruciating physical pain, comes with at least one perk.
Protection.
I feel the sheer terror I once felt morphing into something I shouldn’t feel.
Gratitude.
What the fuck is wrong with me? After everything he’s done to me, I’m actually considering trying to make this work because he saved me?
No. I can’t just accept this for what it is, can I? A relationship with a demon is something I can honestly say was never on my vision board for my future—lovely house, fancy car, and a hot husband, yes. But literally a hot demon boyfriend, definitely not.
I close my eyes and shake my head. Images of Mastyx’s face in non-human form force my eyes back open. I’m going to have to get him a mask at the very least if he can’t keep a human one for every encounter. It’s equal to meeting someone with a rocking hot body, but their face is a wreck, so you put a bag over it. I bite the side of my thumbnail, my nerves getting the best of me.
It’s not the end of the world, I guess. I mean, our relationship, our agreement, no matter how painful and unconventional it is, could work. What’s the alternative after all? Death? Going to hell? I’m already fucking there. Figuring out how to navigate my life with Mastyx is going to be a challenge, but hey, no pain, no gain, right?
A swarm of people, shoppers, and vendors pulling wagons and carrying bags approach the parking lot. The officials must be shutting the craft fair down early due to the fire and smoke. Well, at least I have an excuse now for being home early. The only problem is my face and arms.
My mind wanders to the Dollar General I drove by just down the road. I’ll stop there, grab some makeup and buy a long-sleeve shirt. That ought to cover all my bases.
I turn the key, and the Nova rumbles to a start. My fingers curl around the shifter when the familiar feeling of being watched makes the hair on my neck rise. I glance through the windshield and lock eyes with Jayce’s mom, a crowd of people filtering around her as she stands stationary, holding a wreath in one hand and a metal chair in the other.
Shit. I forgot she did crafts. I didn’t know she was here; there are so many vendors.
