Page 26 of Marked
“Do not take offense, little bird. Despite my rakish, uncouth appearance, I am—”
“A scoundrel who should never be trusted around any female. Human or otherwise.” The voice is bored and dry as the blond man from last night pushes from the shadows near the tunnel’s entrance.
He eyes both of us as Caine grins unrepentant.
“Now, Horan,” Caine croons. “Scoundrel is a bit harsh. Devilish … Yes, that one I will give you.” Caine winks in my direction, carnelian eyes blazing.
My mouth gapes. “A demon? You’re a demon?”
He bows low. “In the flesh.” He glances down, expression amused. “So to speak, of course.”
Horan rolls his gold eyes. “What are you doing with the human, Caine? Markus told you no feeding from anyone but your bedmates.”
Caine has the gall to appear appalled. “I would never harm the good Captain’s,” he looks at me, “guest. I am merely escorting her to him.”
“After he said I smelled like dark chocolate and cream,” I mutter under my breath.
Horan sighs. “Fine. But you’re not taking her down by yourself.”
Caine’s eyes flash. “As you like,brother.”
There is something in the way he says it, part condemning, part loathing. Horan tenses, but slips around the corner of the tunnel and fades into the gloom.
The giant, pitch hole in the building seems never ending as it slopes downward into even more darkness. My heart pounds away.
Caine sweeps another grand bow, grin never fading. “After you, little bird.”
I hold my head up high and start into the shadows.
His cackle is sinister, and it echoes off the brick and mortar walls around us. But not a hint of light leaves his eyes.
A demon.
Of course he is.
My hands rise in front of me, casting back and forth to try and feel for any obstacles. Or a fucking wall to hold on to. The sandals on my feet offer little protection from the uneven cement, leaving me stumbling and swearing in the dark.
“You could help me out,” I say, after what seems like a snail’s walk into eternity.
“But we live and breathe the dark, little bird, and we did not have help. Tis what humanity has segregated us to. Now, you can really understand that.” Caine’s voice is a warm breath over my shoulder.
I fling my arms out wildly. Anything to help me get a sense of direction.
“So you won’t help me ... for spite?”
He snickers. “Demon. Remember?”
My eyes roll. “Oh, my bad. I forgot.”
“I don’t see how,” Horan calls back from somewhere up ahead. “He never shuts up about it.”
Caine inhales, the sound mocking. “You wound me. Truly.”
Their banter is familiar, and only partly a joke. The tension between them is audible and visible, when there is light. Whatever history is there, goes back a long time.
And with supernaturals, it can be a long, long time.
Twin pinpricks of gold light brighten out of my peripheral. My head whips over.
