Page 41 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

W e lay on the bed together, me naked with the duvet covering my lower half, him fully exposed on top of it.

While my head sunk into the pillow, he lay on his side, drawing a finger across the surgery scar over my heart in soft, warm caresses.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“There was a problem with my heart when I was about two years old,” I answered. “Surgery saved my life.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“I don’t really remember anything about it,” I said. “Only that I was lucky.”

I ran my index finger along the edge of his angry scar. “What about yours?”

“Arcana,” he replied. “I got into a fight with a witch. She burned me with her magic before I killed her. The scar has never healed.”

I should’ve recoiled at the mention of him killing a witch, but that fight had been a long time ago. “I can’t wrap my head around you being there in the Arcana days. I know so many demons were, but it’s weird to think about.”

He pressed his hand over my heart. “Do you wish Arcana had stayed after the Clay Christmas debacle?”

“Kind of. I saw videos of him, his power. He seemed so amazing.”

“But?”

I sighed. “But too powerful.”

He nodded, then took the conversation in a new direction. “Do you have family in the city? Many friends?”

“Only Darcy. My family are gone.” I took a deep breath. “My parents died when I was three. My grandma raised me.”

“Who’s mother was she?”

“My mum’s. She died last January from sepsis.” Another deep breath, skirting around the pit of grief. “I miss her so much.”

“I’m sorry, Roman.”

I pulled back from the pit. “Darcy’s like the brother I never had.”

“That’s nice. It shows.” He cupped the side of my face, tracing his thumb along my jawline. “I can smell your loneliness. Have done ever since we met.”

Okay then. “How does lonely smell?”

“A blend of chocolate and sorrow, as I told you before.”

“Not rotten eggs?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. Though that’s not the worst smell.”

“It’s not?”

“That would be lemons.”

“Of course.”

His lips twitched. “I’d rather rotten eggs than lemon of any kind. Nasty stuff.”

“Not even a lovely lemon meringue pie?”

He wrinkled his nose. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Clearly.”

He shuffled closer. “I’m sorry you’ve been so lonely.”

I’m sure I’ll continue to be once this bubble bursts. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurting for so long.”

Sadness drifted across his features. “We both carry our share of heartbreak.”

“I guess that’s part of living.”

“The consequence of drawing breath.”

Man, this was taking a dark turn. I cupped his face in response. “Thanks for easing the pressure of living for a while. And thanks for saving me from a complete breakdown.”

“No problem.”

“I have some serious thinking to do.”

He sidled closer. “Are you tired?”

“Yeah.” I followed up with a yawn.

“Then sleep for a while.”

“Before things turn to shit?”

“I wish I could say no.”

“I don’t want to face the shit.”

He pulled me close, providing a haven for my face in his chest. I pressed my cheek to his skin, listening to two hearts beating evenly. A soothing thrum easing me into a drowsier state.

“I’ll be with you through the shit,” he said.

You can’t. This is crazy. “Thanks.”

“By the way, I don’t remember waltzing into your life. I regard it more of a tango.”

I giggled as I yawned.

He wrapped his arms tighter around me. “Sleep, Roman. Sleep.”

Seconds later, I did.