I barely register he’s sitting with his back against the couch before I’m throwing the entire pitcher on him. He sputters and flails. I wince, dancing out of his reach. I’d rather not get shocked or smacked. Either seems like an option at this point.
“What the fuck was that?” he roars as he struggles to his feet.
“Water?” I clamp my mouth shut as he slips on the hardwood and crashes onto the couch.
I retreat farther, closer to the front door. I’m not about to stick around if he attacks me. He might not seem like the type, but I’ve met plenty of good guys who turned out to be nasty pieces of work. They hide behind a smirk and an easy-going nature. Then they turn on you when you’ve slighted them. Besides, I don’t really know Dimitri. Heisa demon, after all. I don’t know why it matters so much, but my mind keeps reminding me of that fact.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snaps, though he makes no move to get up again. At least he fell onto the couch. In fact, he could close his eyes and take a little nap. It’s a good thing I hate that couch or I’d be upset he’s soaking the cushions.
“You yelled. Figured I’d give you some space.” It’s the most neutral response I can come up with.
His dark gaze scans me from head to toe, and a single eyebrow pops up. “Planning on running out the door?”
I grit my teeth as the fear and insecurity slink away. “If I needed to.”
“Without pants?” He smirks, and I flip him off. He closes his eyes and flings his arm over his face. “Besides, it’s never a good idea to run from a demon.”
“Oh? And why’s that?” I sneer.
“We like the chase.” He peeks at me and smirks. “Unless that’s what you’re going for. I’m more than willing to partici?—”
He groans, his body curling as pain assaults him. I take a step as he almost falls onto the floor, though I doubt I’d be able to catch him. Do I get more water? Flour? He isn’t smoking anymore. Heiscrackling again, though. I don’t know if I’m supposed to treat this like an electrical fire or not. I really didn’t think this through. He lies back once more, panting. Smallsparks dance along his skin, and I realize he’s not wearing a shirt.
“I really need you to not set my couch on fire. I don’t have enough baking soda to put you out, and I’m running low on flour. Plus, the flour would stick to you, and I’d really rather not track it all over. Wet flour is a bitch to clean up.”
He gives me a long-suffering look, then shakes his head. “I won’t.”
Pressing my lips together, I turn back to the kitchen to get towels. “Good to know.”
This is the point where things get awkward. He’s vacillating between being pissy and making comments. Inappropriate comments. I’m sure he’s not trying to hit on me. Maybe it’s part of being a demon—like the chasing. A shiver rolls through me, and I shove the feeling deep. I’ll examine it later. When I’m alone.
I spin around as I reach the threshold. “You can’t read my thoughts, right?”
His eyebrow pops up once more, much to my dismay. “No. That’s more of a dragon thing. Not a demon one. Magic doesn’t work like that. Although…”
I gesture for him to continue when he presses his lips together. “Although, what?”
He closes his eyes again. “Not important. Just rambling. Can I have some water? To drink…not thrown in my face. Please.”
My mouth drops open, then I snap it shut. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s polite. I’m still battling the preconceived notions I grew up with. Dimitri is nothing like I was taught.
Despite what I told him earlier, I desperately want to know more. Asking him would require us to get to know each other, though, and I don’t have time for that. I lost too much of it while I was sick. I’m still not doing well, but I can’t keep putting things off.
When I bring him a glass, I set it on the side table. With his eyes closed and his breathing even, I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. He can’t be very comfortable. My couch isn’t that big, especially for a demon well over six feet. I didn’t really notice before since I was distracted by the grey skin and random short circuits. Plus, I was too busy freaking out about the closet, and then I was too sick.
I end up spreading a blanket over him. It doesn’t seem like enough. I’m not going to try to move him to my bed, though. I’d rather the claws he’s suddenly sporting not slash me to ribbons. Where they came from is just another question I won’t be asking. Some of them are too personal, others too weird.
So instead of waking him up and asking him, I curl up in the wingback chair and write them all down. It’s the best I can do. Maybe Percy knows something. She’s too perceptive, though. She’ll demand to know why I’m suddenly interested in demons when I never was before. Most witches go through a Hell phase. It’s not always demons. Sometimes they study the magic, the dimensions, or the void. They pore over ancient texts and seek out elders, all in the thirst for knowledge. Most covens allow them to pick what they want.
I didn’t get those choices. I had to research plants, potions, and practices surrounding them. It was boring as fuck and I hated every minute of it. At least Lark got spells, though she was sent to clean out the attic when she was caught looking at the dark ones. They weren’t even that bad, but Aunt Star was kind of a bitch. I never did fully figure out what happened in her life to make her so distrustful of…well, everything. Other than the obvious. I suppose I’d hate the world if Lark dove deep into sorcery. Oh right, she probably did.
By the time the sun sets, I’ve got a list two pages long. My eyes droop, and I vow to get up soon. I need to make myself dinner. And clean the bathroom. And pull everything out ofthe closet. There must be something in there to find my sister. Maybe she stuck a parchment under a loose floorboard with specific instructions about what the hell she did. If I’m lucky, there’ll be a note telling me exactly where she went and how to find her.
Minutes or hours later, I’m jostled awake. It takes me longer than it should to register the strong arms cradling me and the warm chest under my cheek. I should protest or demand he put me down. Except the lack of sleep has rendered me useless.
“Shit,” he mutters as he trips over nothing.
“Down,” I whine.
