The Demon's Half

Chapter 23

"Let it out, let it out." Alexander's voice was annoyingly soothing as his hand pressed against my back, the warmth helping through the absolute train wreck of my puta existencia.

By the time the horror show was over, I turned to him, wheezing like I'd just run a marathon in a swamp.

And—unluckily for me—he still didn't have a shirt on.

I internally screamed at myself not to look, but my treacherous eyes weren't listening to me. And tried to sound like a normal, functional person. "What did you mean by not having a leash? And what was that thing about mortals having power?"

Alexander hummed. "So many questions." He leaned against the front door crossing his arms over his chest. So. Many. Muscles.

"I thought we agreed to trust each other." I desperately tried to keep my gaze to his face.

His head stayed tilted down, but when he lifted his gaze, it was like staring into a man's eyes instead of a demon's. "You trust me?" He asked.

Fuck.

"I'm trying." It wasn't a complete lie. "So meet me halfway."

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand for the fifth time today and straightened, even though my insides still felt like they'd been put through a blender of emotions and bile.

Alexander's mouth curled to a smile. "When I said I don't have a leash, it's because demons serve."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We weren't born demons. We were made." His voice darkened.

"I thought evil people became demons when they died," I admitted, immediately regretting how stupid that sounded.

Alexander raised a brow. "Is that what your smelly friends say?"

"No," I lied. "Well... yes. Maybe." My brain scrambled for something—anything—to not sound like a total idiot. "But they also said demons were created with witchcraft."

His eyes squinted slightly, like he was examining me under a microscope. "At least they got that part right. Witches make demons. For power. For control."

I hesitated, his words unsettling something deep in my gut. "But were you—"

"I was made by a witch, yes," Alexander said, his voice almost absent, like he was pulling the memory from some far-off, dusty corner of his mind. "But she didn't know she had to claim me. So, no leash for me."

I tried to focus. Really, I did.

But that was hard to do when his ridiculously perfect chest was still right there, like some kind of Greek tragedy.

"So demons serve witches—" I said.

"And mortals serve demons once they lose their soul. Yes." His tone was so casual it made my nostrils flare. Like he was explaining how to boil water.

"That's horrible."

"Power is power, Morgan," he simply said.

"Yeah, and you don't care who you hurt or kill for it." I said.

His smirk was slow. Purposeful. "Exactly."

I stared at him. "That wasn't a compliment."

His grin stretched, unapologetic. "And yet, it was still correct."

I wanted to punch him.

"Little Thing," he murmured, tilting his head in that annoyingly smug way. "I lost my humanity a long, long time ago. Don't expect me to feel bad about it. I am unable to."