The Demon's Half

Chapter 16

The red behind my eyes burned hotter than blood. "Why did you do that?!'"

The demon leaned against a column. "Do what?"

"Hurt Logan, asshole."

"Because I can."

"We had a truce!"

"Oh," he tapped his chin. "Yeah, I don't care about that."

The casual cruelty of his tone was enough to make me want to strangle him. But I forced my breath steady. Losing control meant losing to him.
Breathe. Breathe.

I tugged Mia's hoodie off and tied it around my waist.
The air here was suffocatingly hot.

"If we're going to work together, you can't act like a prick," I said trying to sound as casual as possible. I needed him to heal Logan.

"First," he said, "you work for me. We don't work together. You take orders. I give them."

I turned away before I did something reckless. His arrogance was about to drive me off the fucking edge.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Go fuck yourself."

He grinned. "Only if you watch."

I shoved past him, blocking out the sound of his footsteps trailing me. Five steps. That's all I got. Then, he was in front of me again. A shadow I couldn't outrun.
His hands landed on my shoulders. With one smooth motion, he spun me, turning my back to him.

"Alright," his breath ghosted my ear. "Enough fun. Time to focus."

I opened my mouth to snap back at him—but the words died before they could leave my lips.
Because I saw where he'd turned me.
The entrance of the museum unfolded before us like something pulled from a storybook. The bronze doors loomed ahead, adorned with intricate scenes of battles and celebrations.
I stared and stared.
Places like this only existed in books... right?
Nothing in Moonveil was this luxurious. People lived on the streets and died of starvation.
It didn't feel real. Even the sunlight from above seemed softer, almost too perfect, like we'd stepped into another world. Beautiful and warm.

I turned to the demon, searching for some kind of explanation. For once, he wasn't smirking. He wasn't mocking me. He was calm. The expression sat strangely on him. A quiet, almost serene smile played at his lips, so at ease it made me doubt if this was even the same demon that made my life a living hell.
The sunlight caught on his pale skin, outlining the sharp angles of his jaw. The black suit he'd worn earlier was gone, replaced by something simple—just a black t-shirt and jeans.

My gaze traced the strong lines of his arms, to the weird patterns of his tattoos. They stretched from hand to shoulder, intricate patterns twisting up his skin, disappearing beneath his shirt. The black ink looked like it had been burned into him instead of drawn. The symbols looked weirdly familiar—

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Heat crawled up my neck. "Get. Out. Of. My. Head."

The demon turned to me fully. "I thought you were speaking aloud." A pause. "Not my fault your thoughts are so loud."

Grinding my teeth, I turned back to the museum, forcing myself to focus. Breathe. Calm down. But it was useless—it felt like trying to extinguish a wildfire with a napkin.

"You could've at least healed him, pendejo!"

For a horrible second, I thought I'd gone too far. My pulse skittered as I braced for retaliation.