She’d almost cleared the alley when she slowed.
The Devil wasn’t coming after her.
And she might’ve been the biggest idiot in all of Terra, but she lurched to a stop, took a deep breath, and slowly…slowly…turned around to face him.
He was tucking his pistol into a concealed holster at the front of his black cargo pants, entirely unaffected by the corpses littering the alley at his boots, their lifeblood trickling like small streams between the cobblestones.
Four corpses whose necks were marked with matching tattoos of a phoenix head.
Loren waited, hooking her fingers together, as he casually peeled off his black gloves and stuffed them into one of the many pockets in his black jacket. Black upon black upon black.
His intense eyes met hers—and narrowed. “You moved.”
“And you didn’t kill me.” Her voice was so hoarse, she barely recognized it as her own.
“I was waiting for you to start screaming.” His expression was serious, but she had the feeling that he was making some sick joke.
“Lucky for me that I only moved, then.”
A smile teased one side of his sculptured mouth. “Lucky for you,” he agreed.
She studied him; the tattooed hands hanging casually at his sides, the mark of the Devils below his ear, the combat boots spattered with blood.
“Why?” She knew he understood what she was asking: why hadn’t he killed her yet?
“It seems my client failed to mention one minor detail.” She waited, and after a moment he told her, “Nobody said anything to me about a human girl.”
Interesting,Loren thought. Was it possible that this soulless killer somehow pitied her? Or was she about to do something extremely reckless?
She blurted, “Did you want to sit down somewhere?” The question had left her mouth before she realized what she was asking him. But he hadn’t killed her—yet.Instead, he’d killed the people who were after her. And although he, too, had been tracking her, he’d given her a chance to speak—to explain herself. And he hadn’t chased her when she ran.
Perhaps she could give him a few minutes of her time. And provided she didn’t leave the avenue with him, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt.
Hopefully.
The world she’d been born into was a world of wolves, and it didn’t take kindly to lambs like her. To survive it, you either had to become a wolf…or make friends with one. She knew she wasn’t the type to ever become a wolf, so she would have to try for the latter. Thoughfriendwas the last thing she would expect to call this man.
“You look like you’re going to faint,” the Devil noted, that intimidating gaze roving over her features. “Know any good restaurants around here?”
What kind of a question is that?she wondered. But then she remembered who she was talking to. Someone like him was more likely to frequent the seedier parts of town than a flawless tourist destination. By choice, of course—and certainly not because he couldn’t afford it.
“Only all of them,” she replied with a careful smile he didn’t return. She gestured to the busy street behind her. “We’re on the Avenue of the Scarlet Star.”
—
At a booth in a private corner of Rook and Redding’s Restaurant and Bar, Darien leaned back against the button-tufted backrest, crossed one ankle over a knee, and studied the girl sitting across from him. She hadn’t looked up from her menu for the past five minutes, and not a single word had left her mouth since they’d come to the agreement to sit down at this restaurant.
He wondered if she was regretting this, if she realized how foolish she was for choosing to trust him. Judging from the way her body was angled toward the doors, complete with her toes—her manicured nails painted hot-pink—pointing to the street beyond, he wouldn’t be surprised if she ran out of here screaming at any second.
“Are you just going to keep staring at me all day?” the girl said, her soft voice wavering. “Or are you going to decide what you want to eat?” Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes were fixed on the open menu on the table before her, lashes fanning out over her sunburned cheeks.
Darien leaned forward, cupped a hand over his mouth, and pretended to read the lunch options. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her peek up at him to make sure he wasn’t looking at her anymore.
After a moment, he grew tired of pretending to peruse the menu and slapped the cover shut. “Haveyoudecided?” he countered.
She closed hers as well, the motion sending a puff of air across the table. Her bouquet—a characteristic scent every person had, fully identifiable only by someone with an immortal’s sense of smell—was an intoxicating blend of juicy peaches and just-rained-on honeysuckle, with a faint hint of cedar smoke. “I think so.”
A venefica waitress came up to the table with two glasses of ice water and the cherry cola the girl had ordered. The waitress produced a pen and a pad of paper from the pocket of her smock and asked to take their orders.
