Synching With the Devil's Son

Chapter 41

Lucien's P.O.V.

I can see Bella trying to connect the dots in her head. She doesn't want to believe me, but she's starting to. I know she's looking for a sign that pot burned my skin when I carried it out to the clearing for her. "That scream..." she starts and then stops. I shake my head, "You were never in any danger, I would not have let that bear anywhere near you." She nods slightly, and then cocks her head. "You carried me back..." I nod and quirk my lips. "I am a lot stronger than you can possibly imagine."

I can just about pinpoint the moment she believes me. Her breathing becomes more erratic, her skin gets flushed and she starts to shake a little. She takes a step backward, and I feel my heart plummet into my stomach. "Please don't be afraid of me," I whisper, begging her with my eyes to listen to me. "I would never hurt you."

She sighs, dropping her gaze. "Honestly Lucien, I know you wouldn't. You proved that beyond a reasonable doubt last night. I guess I need time to think about this. You're telling me you're not even human!"

I take a slow breath in, not realizing I had been holding it until she started talking in full sentences again. "I'm half human, my mother was human."

"And your father is a demon," she states.

"No, my father is an angel. He's just been kicked out of Heaven for acting a lot like I was acting before he sent me here." I smile inwardly at the cross eyed expression Bella just gave me. She is trying so hard to believe me so I have to think of ways to make it easier for her. "There are a lot of advantages to being half-angel you know." At her sharp glance I smile and say, "I don't feel pain and cannot get hurt, I have a few powers I'd like to show you someday, and I don't really have to eat much, although I like to." I stop speaking when Bella stares at me in way I know she's looking for signs I'm not human. She slowly works her way up my body until her eyes meet mine and then she shakes her head.

"You understand this is an awful lot to assimilate, right?" When I nod at her, she looks thoughtful. Then she looks at me sharply and suddenly asks, "How did your mother die?"

I was not expecting her to ask about my mother again, so I am taken aback at bit. She narrows her calculating gaze at me and I find I am unable to do anything but answer her honestly. "Old age."

"How old was she?" she asks.

"Sixty-six." I see her furrow her eyebrows in confusion because by modern standards, sixty-six isn't that old. I wait for her next question, knowing in my bones it's going to be a doozy.

I'm spot on when she says, "Well...then...how old are you?" she asks, putting her hands on her hips while scrutinizing me. Oh boy, she's not going to like this answer.

"Four hundred and six years old."