Page 8 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

XAVIER

I watched the witch leave, appreciating his aesthetics.

From his enticing amber eyes to his fair, golden skin, and the way his black jeans belied a perfectly ripe ass.

His black hair was adorned with fine streaks of silver, his jawline painted with artful facial hair.

Even the witch mark on his forehead added to his splendorous form.

Everything about him piqued my curiosity.

A dark aura seemed to trap him in a heavy cocoon. Nothing wicked or cruel, more like tragedy, a sorrow buried deep, a man trying to live his life within a hurricane of sadness.

The rat scurried after him, offering me one quick glance with his red eyes.

I took in my surroundings. Peach wallpaper, a carpet to match, brown furniture, a homely feeling to everything.

The rodent’s cage sat atop a chest of drawers beside the leather armchair, a tube linked to a side table. Was that Roman’s favorite chair?

Behind me, the rambunctious Soho danced the night away, the sounds clear yet muffled. This flat was a paradox of sanctuary and being within the heart of the action. I liked it.

Enjoying such coziness was nothing more than frivolity, though. As soon as I was back to full strength, I would leave and put as much distance between myself and London as possible.

Fury pawed at me. How could I allow myself to be rescued by a witch? How could I have begged him like that?

Those silver-clothed humans had used Lemon Drop against me—a lost ancient concoction designed to weaken my type of demon. Which meant they were working with a demon, or someone with knowledge of ancient recipes.

I should investigate, but I just wanted peace, to be left out of everything that wasn’t a quiet life. I’d had my fill of drama across the centuries, many lifetimes worth of pain seared into my memory.

Ismael…

My Ismael…

“Just let me have peace,” I whispered at the images of his stunning face drifting across my mind.

Maybe there can never be peace…

To not dig out the root of this problem was a fool’s choice. I had to investigate.

Or run… Be the fool…

Roman returned, the rat perched on his right shoulder. “Bath’s ready.”

I couldn’t help but stare at him, how the edge of his black sweater had bunched up, offering a glimpse of more golden flesh.

He caught me looking, his brows pinching together as he pulled his sweater down. “Hope you like bubbles.”

“I love them.”

He came over to help me up. “Good. That aligns with my love of a piss-free flat.”

How amusing.

Roman led me into a baby-blue and white bathroom, small yet charming with a bath, a shower hanging over it, a toilet, and a sink. My favorite thing was the shower curtain decorated with seahorses.

“Fresh towels there,” he pointed at the heated towel rack. “Got a spare dressing gown hanging on the back of the door. Might be a bit short for you but better than nothing. I’ll wash your clothes if you like. Just pop them outside the door. I’ll have them dry by morning.”

“Thank you.”

He shrugged. “It’ll soon be tomorrow.”

“And we can forget all about this.” I didn’t quite believe my words, but he seemed to enjoy hearing them.

This was not the start of something new. This was a layover, a detour from my London escape or my investigation.

I leaned more toward the former choice, which only threw fuel on my fury.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, scratching at his facial hair.

“I should be healed enough to walk by myself within the next hour.”

“Great.”

“Can you walk yourself out of the flat?” the rat said.

I smiled at him. “I would rather be at full strength when that happens.”

“As long as it does.” He turned his back to me.

“It’s fine,” Roman said. “You can rest and leave in the morning.”

“My plan all along.”

With a curt nod, the witch left me to undress, a tub full of almond-scented bubbles awaiting my aching bones.