Even at this late hour, there are still plenty of demons around. Music filters out from buildings that must be clubs or restaurants, the mouth-watering aroma of grilled meats and other foods washes over me, and both Callum and I are cast in the warm yellow glow of the burning streetlamps set up and down the edges of the cobbled streets.
I wiggle in his grasp, trying to get down, but Callum’s not letting me go anywhere.
“My home isn’t far.”
“Great,” I tell him again. “So there’s no reason I can’t walk to—”
He starts walking.
Down the street, and then into an alley. Another street, another alley, and by the time we reach a set of steep stairs that lead up into an apartment, I’ve stopped complaining.
Really, I can’t be too mad about my own personal demon taxi service.
Especially when it comes with arms that keep me held safe against his chest and a face grumpy enough to warn off anyone we cross paths with.
The building is made of deep gray stone, pretty much indistinguishable from the tangle of city surrounding it. It’s solid, but worn with time, with a few shops on the ground floor and what appears to be a handful of small apartments making up the rest.
When we reach Callum’s door, he finally lets me down.
But he doesn’t stop touching me. At least not right away.
He keeps both hands braced on my upper arms, grip firm but not tight, eyes still tracing every detail of my face until he’s satisfied I’m not about to fall over.
It makes me want to cry.
Stupid.
Iknowit’s stupid, but I can’t help closing my eyes and savoring that touch.
Strong and steady, big hands and long fingers that are warm—sowarm—and unerring as he makes sure I’ve got the support I need.
I can’t remember the last time someone held me up.
I can’t remember the last time I depended on someone other than myself.
Even though I also know I shouldn’t indulge the urge to let him help me, the urge to take every little bit of support he offers like I’m a parched woman in the desert and he’s an oasis, I do it anyway.
For a few seconds, I let myself believe I could have this.
A handsome—albeit surly and stubborn—demon who will be right beside me when I need a helping hand. Someone who’ll be there for me with no expectation of anything in return.
But that’s not the truth, is it?
Of course he expects something in return.
Just like everyone else in my life.
I open my eyes.
Callum still looks worried, with a deep furrow in his brow and a frown I can make out even behind his dense, bushy beard. His crimson eyes focus on mine, as if he’s trying to hear all my thoughts and reassure himself that I’m okay.
But I make myself ignore that, too.
“This is your place?”
Callum nods slowly, eyes finally sliding away from my face, only to narrow again.
My gaze follows his, and I turn to see what he’s looking at over my left shoulder.
