Page 64 of Capturing Sin

Once more, I sent up a silent prayer that the grizzled bastard was dead.

Taking one last look at the freedom beckoning me outside, I left the room, running my fingertips over the soft sheets one more time as I passed the bed.

I quickly searched the other rooms I passed down the corridor, holding my breath in the hopes I wouldn’t find any corpses. The other three bedrooms were cosy, holding cute knickknacks on tidy bedside tables and framed art on feature walls. You could feel the warmth in the plush throw pillows and scented candles already burned part-way.

A pang of longing hit me so hard I could barely breathe.

Each room appeared lived in but empty, and just as neat as the master bedroom I’d slept in. Whoever owned the house must be away, and I let out a relieved exhale. Some innocent human family had been spared.

I made my way downstairs, ignoring the smiling faces watching from photo frames along the stairway. Claws raked at the hollow longing I was desperately trying to smother.

Depending on how long I’d slept, today should have been my wedding day.

If Leo weren’t such a colossal arsehole, would I have ended up in a gorgeous home like this? Would I have started my own family, in a haven away from the violence of hunter life? Would we all be smiling at a camera, radiating enough joy to choke strangers?

The happy pictures blurred, and I blinked rapidly, shoving down the emotions trying to leak out. With every step, I rebuilt my armour, donning the blank shell and hardening it into place.

I followed the tantalising scent of food into the modern kitchen. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that the last time I’d eaten was over a day ago.

I stilled at the bizarre sight.

A familiar grey demon stood in profile, a line of vicious spikes running along his vertebrae. The same bony weapons protruded from his shoulders and elbows, warning me not to approach.

Low-slung joggers hugged his hips, straining around powerful thighs and stopping short mid-calf. His tail poked through a slit cut just under the waistband. It should have looked ridiculous, but if anything, it only highlighted the sheer size of the monster.

The wounds from yesterday were practically healed, only thin pink slashes interrupting the white tattoos covering his muscular torso.

But it was what he did that rendered me speechless.

Sin held a pair of tongs in one hand, casually turning pieces of bacon in a frying pan. A steel pot rested on the cooker, small flames licking its base as something simmered inside.

Not bothering to look up, he tipped his horns aside, pointing to the dining table I’d yet to notice. “Sit down before you fall down, poison. It’s almost ready.”

For a moment, I considered launching myself at him while his back was turned, and finding out whether a steel pan was tougher than that square jaw. The wicked spikes jutting from his spine were a warning that he was deadly from all angles though.

His tail curved upwards, snagging my gaze. The heart-shaped tip was a slightly darker shade than the rest of his charcoal skin, and it pointed to a chair, silently repeating his command.

I rolled my eyes but grabbed a seat at the polished oak table, watching the demon in fascination. “Am I dead? Is hell watching the most irritating demon cook for himself?”

Sin turned, showing off his angular features in the soft light that streamed through the windows.

A smirk graced his pouty lips. “No, poison, but I’ll take you as close to heaven as a sinner like you could get.”

I crossed my arms, lacing my tone with a heavy dose of scepticism. “Since I’ve never had a real home, I’m sure heaven would involve me waking up in my dream house”—I gestured around the luxurious kitchen that would be wasted on my paltry culinary skills—“but it sure as hell wouldn’t have a monster lurking inside.”

Pity flashed across his features before he gave me his back once more.

Bands squeezed my chest as I realised what I’d just admitted. He probably thought I was even more pathetic now.

The demon lifted the cooked bacon from the pan, chopping it into pieces before adding it to the larger saucepan.

A stoneware bowl waited on the counter beside him, and he stirred the pot one last time before serving up whatever was in the pan, broad frame blocking my view.

My stomach growled again, reminding me I wasn’t dead yet. Though watching a demon cook and eat while I slowly starved would be its own form of torture.

Or poetic justice.

Sin returned the pot and carried the bowl over, setting it before me.

---