Page 60 of Cursed
Angel Wars?Dread rose within me, but with it came a burst of excitement. If what Cain said was true—and I had no reason to disbelieve him, not after what I’d witnessed tonight—then it meant an entire world beyond what I’d always known coexisted with mine.
I took his hand, my mind racing with a hundred thoughts, and followed him through the bedroom and into an old-fashioned study, aglow with warm light, a humongous oak desk against a wall, and shelves of books on the opposite side with a wing-backed chair nestled in a corner. A sofa and coffee table sat in the middle of the room.
When he reached the study door, he opened it and pulled me through to a shockingly modern kitchen, complete with a granite-topped island counter, a commercial oven, one stainless steel refrigerator, and a tiny breakfast nook.
But the walls and ceilings of his house felt...wrong, too utilitarian, militaristic even. And much too dark. Every room I’d been in had been gloomy without windows. This place reminded me of a prison—or an oversized, cushy coffin.
Cain strode to the fridge and release my hand, glancing over his shoulder. “You thirsty?” He opened the silver door.
“I could use some water if you don’t mind.” Now that he’d mentioned it, I wasn’t only thirsty, but hungry, too. At the very thought of food, my stomach rumbled. Loudly.
I blushed.
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound bouncing around the room and squeezing my chest. His smile became the brightest light in the kitchen. His eyes sparkled, turning their unique silvery-ice color a bit bluer, like pristine glaciers in the arctic.
In the music of his laugh, my uneasiness and dread disappeared. Whatever fantastic story or horrendous danger he was about to share, I knew I’d always remember how the overhead light played in the strands of the longer hair on the top of his head, highlighting lighter hues of chestnut, how the shaved sides above his ears let the lighter skin of his scalp show through, how miniscule crinkles formed at the ends of his slanted eyes, how his full lips curved with such delight, how the tattoo around his left eye shone silver, reminding me of tiny diamonds decorating the night sky.
Deep inside my chest, my heart clenched itself into a tiny ball. I barely knew this man, yet he and I shared a strong connection. I desperately hoped he felt it, too.
Using his fingers, he wiped his eyes and straightened, the laugh dying on his lips, but he still wore a tiny smile. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt such humor.” He grabbed two bottles of water by the caps, a package of pre-cut apple slices, little triangles of cheddar cheese, and shut the door.
“Guess I should’ve eaten supper before the masquerade.” As soon as the last word was out of my mouth, I scowled.What am I doing laughing with him? He knows a demon. He has the same kind of abilities. For all I know, he’s a demon, too.
He frowned, as if also remembering the earlier events, and stalked toward a staircase leading upward. “C’mon.”
I shifted on my feet.ShouldI follow him? What if this was a ploy?
But he and I had already been alone, and he hadn’t hurt me. He’d saved me tonight. I had no choice but to continue trusting him if I wanted answers about his acquaintance, Malachi, and what happened at the masquerade.
As if he could read my mind, and without even giving a backward glance as he continued to climb the metal staircase, he said, “I have no intentions of hurting you, Phoebe. If I did, then I would have.”
“Gee. That makes me feel better.” Glaring at his back, I grabbed ahold of the cold steel banister and followed, my footsteps echoing in the wide, circular kitchen slash living area.
A small snicker floated toward me, and I let out a long breath, following in his wake, my gaze fixated on his backside, watching how his glutes tensed with each step.
At least the view is nice. Tara would be in Heaven right now.
