Page 47 of Demon

Standing for a second, I hesitated.

“What’s wrong Ciara?”

“Your dog. It wants me dead.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Demon rolled his eyes. “She’s fine. She doesn’t know you, but she’s not going to eat you. I might. She won’t.”

My jaw dropped, no words coming out, and across Demon’s face the muscles flinched, the tiniest of smirks pulling at his lips. Demon stepped back, his hand running down the underside of my arm. I could feel the smouldering heat of his touch even through the denim jacket I wore. Or maybe it was just the promise of something else warming me up from the inside out. His hand dropped lower, fingers moving between mine, intertwining and pulling me gently with him.

Inside the door was nothing but stairs, lit by a pale gold light and the shadow of the beast standing at the top of them. The dog watched me closely as I climbed every stair holding Demon’s hand; the steps creaking under our combined weight. As we reached the top, the dog darted backwards, giving us space to pass, but still, I could feel its eyes on me, and the intention of those big teeth in its mouth. I clutched Demon’s hand tighter, and he snorted a little in amusement.

The apartment above the shop unit was much bigger than I’d expected. The door from the stairs opened out into a huge open plan space. In the far corner, marked with brushed stainless steel kitchen units and a line of black cast iron stools lined up along the front of the counter, was the kitchen. Neat and tidy and organised. On the other side of the room was a big leather corner sofa and a few modest scatter cushions literally scattered across the furniture. The dog curled up at the foot of the sofa, into a huge fleecy bed, it’s eyes still watching every move I made.

Demon gestured towards the settee. “Do you want a drink, food, anything?” he asked as I perched on the end furthest from the dog as possible.

“No thanks. I’m pretty tired.”

“Bed,” he said, not turning round as he pulled a thick half-pint glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. “Come on. I’ll show you where that is.”

Demon chugged back the water, the glass clunking down on the metal countertop, before he stepped away, tipping his head in a quiet command to follow him. Then, with a last glance over my shoulder, to see if his dog was coming too, I trotted after him. And maybe, just maybe, I heard a low whine from the living room. My lips pulled, but I stopped the smile before it became any bigger. Or I was going to praise myself for winning against the dog. And that was pathetic.

Demon pushed the door open to a bedroom. To a huge, low bed and a sparsely decorated, non-descript space.

“Your room?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where are you sleeping?”

“In here. With you.”

I swallowed, surveying the bed. It was big enough. Big enough for us to stay on one side each. His hand caught mine, pulling me to face him, his other hand reaching carefully towards me, his forefinger and thumb tipping my head up. Just a little. Just enough so that I couldn’t look away from him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

“I… er…”

“You worried about sharing a bed with me? We slept together in the clubhouse.”

“I know. It’s becoming a habit.”

“Yeah. So, what if it is?”

“I just don’t want to get used to it.”

“Why, Ciara?”

“Because I may not stay here.”

“Yeah. I know. You want to go back to your room? Your home,” he added quickly, as if he might have offended me.

“No. I mean here. In Newcastle. The North East.”

“Why Ciara? Why would you move?”

There was a strain in his voice. A slight waver. A vulnerable uncertainty. I sighed.

“Tell me, Ciara. What would make you leave?”