Page 11 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

XAVIER

T he rat slept through the final twenty minutes of an action movie starring Hugh Jackman, curled up in the turquoise hammock of his cage.

I stood by the window, the Soho streets quiet, litter rolling across wet concrete. Almost at full strength again, charging up like a battery. Soon I could slip away.

Movement behind me, the clicking of a light, the tinkle of liquid. Roman. Up to relieve his bladder.

Could he sleep with my scent affecting him? Many hadn’t in the past. If he wanted me to service him, to scratch the itch of his rising lust, I would happily help to repay him for his kindness.

And such kindness it was. A place to sleep, tea, laundry service.

I didn’t understand his motives as much as he clearly didn’t, but I was grateful for every second of his kindness.

He could have left me back there. He should have.

I am a demon after all, a dangerous creature to have sleeping on his sofa.

At least for the time being, I had no desire to hurt him or his little friend.

Something about him hinted at deeper complexities in his life.

As much as he dripped with sorrow, a sense of duty poked its head through, calling to my attention.

In my many centuries of life, I’d developed a small gift of sensing things from humans, from my fellow demons.

Not a fully-fledged skill by any means, but useful all the same to pick up on tiny hints.

Who are you?

Unfortunately, I could not turn off my scent, especially when I found his so attractive. Come morning, I would remove this complication from his life.

A flash of silver in the corner of my eye. Two humans dressed in the silver garb of my hunters moved into the street, slowly checking the alleyways, eyes scanning the windows above and below. Fresh recruits carrying on from their fallen comrades.

Had they found me? How? A tracker of some kind?

I backed away, the back of my legs bumping the sofa. My two hearts thumped side by side, a pair of drums booming out a warning.

Frozen, I listened to the rain, emptying my mind of all thought, focusing on the vibrations of their footsteps. Slow and stalking, inching past this building.

Too slow.

I willed them to leave, inching deeper into the living room.

The flushing of the toilet, the washing of hands, the clicking off of the bathroom light. His footsteps, so light, approaching the living room.

I turned at the exact moment he appeared in the doorway dressed in gray shorts and a white vest, his hair sleep-messy.

Cute.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Same. Want some tea?”

The vibrations of my enemy moved past, creeping further away. “That would be wonderful.”

I followed him into his pine-and-orange kitchen, glancing at the front door of the flat. Waiting for it to burst open, for Lemon Drop to force me to my knees.

When had I become so weak, so scared of humans to cower in the shelter of a witch?

What had my life become?