UNMASKED

CHAPTER 14

DEMON'S POV

"Conan Takashi." 

"Conan Takashi." 

"Conan Takashi." 

I remember his name but not his face. Strange, isn’t it? But I’m certain he’s handsome—my taste in men is as impeccable as my skill with a scythe. Should I get his name tattooed on my body? Maybe. What if I forget his name too? That would be… unfortunate. 

My overthinking was interrupted when the priest entered, my scythe slung over his shoulder. It suited him, in a strange way. He looked like Death incarnate. 

"Here’s your scythe," he said, tossing it at me with a smirk. "I polished it and even removed the bloodstains. You’re welcome." 

"Should I head to the Caribbean to dig up a picture of Conan?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. 

"No," I replied curtly. Why bother? It’s not like I’ll remember his face when I’m dead. "What’s happening outside?" 

"Same as always. They’re still combing the area for you—house to house, street by street. They’re relentless." 

How flattering. They’re working so hard just to catch me. It almost makes me feel special. 

"Don’t they look down on me? Do they really think I’d stoop to hiding in some hole?" 

"Aren’t you hiding now?" he shot back, his grin widening. 

I glared at him. "Yes, but unlike them, I’m not stupid enough to hide in plain sight." 

"Night’s falling. Make sure you’re back before sunrise," he said, ignoring my jab. "We can’t leave any trace behind." 

I scoffed. How did this jerk ever aspire to become a priest? He’s insufferable. 

"Where are the soldiers now?" I asked, inspecting my reflection in the blade of my scythe. Perfect. Flawless. Beautiful. No wonder Maniego hesitates to kill me—I look like an angel. I’ll have to make him hate me even more. 

"They’re concentrated in the west," he said, pulling on a pair of gloves. "If you leave now, you’ll catch them while they’re resting. It’s the perfect time to strike." 

His mannerisms felt oddly familiar—those gloves, the way he avoided blood on his hands. He once said his hands were sacred, meant only to serve me. Who does he remind me of? 

"I’ll come with you," he added. "But don’t expect me to help. I’m just here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. If you die, Clyde will have my head." 

"Don’t worry," I said, rolling my eyes. "I don’t need your help." 

I threw on my cloak, pulling the hood over my head. I looked like a dark witch, but instead of a broom, I carried a scythe. 

"Lead the way," I commanded, and he complied, muttering curses under his breath. 

We navigated through narrow paths and hidden routes, avoiding patrols with his expertise. By the time we reached the western camp, the moon hung high, casting pale light over the resting soldiers. 

"It’s 2 a.m.," the priest said, his voice low. "You have four hours before sunrise. Can you handle them?" 

I turned to him, my lips curling into a smirk. "Two hours. That’s all I need." 

"One and a half?" he countered, raising a brow. 

"One hour," I replied coldly, watching his composure falter.