Page 19 of Demon

“It is to me.”

And in the shadows, we stood looking at each other, working each other out.

“Tell me, Ciara,” he said eventually.

“He’s just leery. That’s all.”

I’d seen Demon react tonight. And I was pretty certain if he set about my landlord, I wouldn’t have a place to live once he was done. So, I kept quiet. If Demon bought the explanation, I couldn’t tell because those eyes never left mine.

“I’m home now, Demon. Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at me. And now, after the cold drive home, I felt hot. Really hot. And there was certainly no heat spared in this house. My cheeks felt like they were burning, that scratchy feeling you get when you stay out in the sun all day. And deep in my chest, my heart beat out a bounding rhythm, fast and furious.

He lifted his hand, reaching towards me, and I winced, drawing a breath at the sudden movement. A sudden irrational fear he would strike me, even though despite all the violence I’d seen tonight, and the aggressive bike riding I’d seen when I’d first met him, he’d never shown any sign that he would hurt me. Not with his hands, anyway.

His fingers brushed the skin on my cheek, touching across my scar gently, but even the lightest touch fired the nerves underneath and, instinctively, I pulled away.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was a whisper, the gentleness masking something underneath.

I shook my head.

“I… I… It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me, Ciara.”

I pulled his hand away, the back of it catching under the light from my mobile, knuckles red and swollen and as I turned it over, the flesh on the underside was torn, gaping open.

“Demon! That needs seeing to.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Upstairs. Now.”

I turned, wondering for a moment whether he would follow, but the stairs creaked behind me. Outside my door, I faltered. I should probably leave him in the corridor. Use the light from my torch to clean him up and send him on his way. The minute I opened that door, he would see where I lived, and I didn’t want to see pity all over his face. I’d had enough people look at me with sympathy in their eyes my entire life. And that had never made anything better. Only I had done that.

He watched me expectantly, but never pushing me to open the door, letting me take my time to decide what I was going to do. And eventually I pushed the key into the lock, feeling for the bolt springing back and the door nudging open. Clicking on the light, I ushered him in, trying to ignore the way he scanned my room, his head moving slowly as he took everything in. I passed him, moving the few steps to the far side to the tiny bench that housed a kitchen sink, a portable hob, and a cupboard underneath. At the very back was a first aid kit. It wasn’t often used, but it was well stocked.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing to the edge of the bed when he looked searchingly around the room. “Yeah. I don’t have a sofa.”

“Wasn’t gonna say a thing.”

“Hand.”

He passed his left hand over and I dabbed the antiseptic across the grazed knuckles, sneaking a peek at him to see if he reacted, but he didn’t do a thing, not even a little wince. His eyes watched me diligently, focused on where I held his hand, pulled in towards me as I sat next to him on the bed. The cut on the other side was deep and dirty, little shards of glass poking out the ragged flesh.

“This might need more than antiseptic and steri-strips,” I warned.

“No, it won’t. Just stick something on it.”

I shook my head, jumping off the bed and to my wardrobe, pulling my make-up bag down off the shelf.

“Don’t think mascara’s gonna work either,” Demon’s voice rumbled from a little way behind me.

“I’m looking for my tweezers.”

And I found them right at the bottom of the bag, covered in eyeliner and a myriad of colour from an exploded eye-shadow palette. Nothing a quick rinse under the tap couldn’t solve.

“Hold still,” I said, sitting back down and pulling his hand into me again.