Demon (The Northern Kings MC #1)

Chapter Twenty Three

Ciara

I rolled fully over, the bed soft underneath me, but cold, like Demon had got out of it hours ago. Daylight peeked around the edge of the blind, infiltrating the darkness of the room just enough that shadows were a mix of greys, not the swarm of engulfing black.

For a moment, I let myself drift off. Demon’s bed was so comfy. Mine was ages old and probably half dead. I’d bought a new mattress for it when I moved in, but the base was nearing ancient and creaked and groaned under the slightest movement. I should stay where I was and reap the benefit of the comfort underneath me and capitalise on the best sleep I’d had in ages.

But then, creeping from the darkness at the back of my brain, the memories stalked forwards. Of Trevor and the last time I’d seen the old man. Of the despair on Jimmy’s face, how it pooled from him, infecting me with the pain of loss. And now sleep was long gone, replaced by the deep, heavy thrum of grief.

I pushed back the duvet, cool summer’s air rushing to meet my naked skin. Demon’s wardrobe stood to my right, mirrored sliding doors whirring gently as I pushed one aside. I raked through his clothes. Leather jackets, denim and hoodies hung carefully from the rail, and a set of drawers inside filled with t-shirts, socks and those tight designer boxers he liked to wear, that peeked out the waistband of his jeans frequently. But it was the grey hoodie at the far side of the wardrobe that caught my eye, and I pulled the soft cosy fabric over the top of me.

The flat above the tattoo shop was quiet and demon dog was nowhere to be seen. Although that didn’t fill me full of confidence. I was bound to come face to face with the damn thing as I rounded a corner. But when I rounded that corner, it wasn’t the dog I saw first. It was Demon, bent over the kitchen table, his hand moving on something in front of him. The dog was asleep at his feet. Sound asleep, not even stirring as I padded almost silently closer.

He was drawing. I could just make out the papers on the table, his hand moving quickly over an area, shading something in. I remember being taught to shade at school. Although I can’t remember which school I’d been moved around that much, it was difficult to keep track, but the memory flickered in the back of my head, embers reigniting.

I took another step. It was a face. A woman’s face. And another step. Not just any woman’s face. It was my face that stared back at me over his shoulder. Another step. It was my face all over the papers that covered the kitchen table. Different positions, different expressions, but as I looked down from right behind him, it was me I saw littered across the surface.

My stomach dropped. Fear igniting now. Deep and heavy, sending my stomach into freefall. Why?

“Why?” the word sounded so loud in the quiet.

The dog raised its head and Demon turned his, dropping his pencil like a kid just caught graffitiing something they shouldn’t.

“Ciara,” he said, delaying, startled.

“Why am I all over your table?” my voice was harsh as I tried to keep the wobble of fear from the words. “What is all this?”

“You.”

“I know it’s me. But why?”

Fuck. I shouldn’t be standing here asking questions. I should be putting some clothes on and legging it. But if I moved too fast, that dog might get me. Savage me. Rip me to shreds. I took a step backwards. And another. Slinking away. Retreating. Backwards out of the room and into the hallway.

The chair scraped across the floor, Demon rising to his feet.

“Ciara,” he said, turning towards me. “Ciara.” He held his hand out. Another step. Put the distance between us. “Ciara. I’m just drawing you.” Another step. “For fuck’s sake. Let me explain.”

My heart was bounding in my throat, each beat making me feel I would gag with the pressure. Demon’s long strides had already closed the gap. The dog too, walking to his heel, like a fucking hellhound itself. I could just run out of the door. Into the street. Someone would see me. Someone would help. My scar twitched. Someone hadn’t helped the last time. Someone had walked past and left me to be assaulted. It had been a homeless guy who’d raised the alarm, eventually. When I staggered out that back lane with blood spilling down my face. Someone who had owed me nothing.

Demon was in front of me now, his arms stretching out, fingers wrapping around the tops of my shoulders. The dog staring up at me.

“Ciara. Just wait a second,” his voice was calm. “Please. I know what it looks like. I know it makes me look crazy. I am fucking crazy. But please. Please listen.”

I nodded. I couldn’t swallow and I couldn’t speak. The heart filling my throat wouldn’t allow it.

“I get angry. I’ve been having counselling for years, since I was a boy, trying to keep control of it. One of my coping mechanisms is drawing. I can channel it better. Control the outbursts. Draw what’s making me feel that way.”

“I make you angry?”

“No. Sometimes. You make me feel something I can’t explain.”

Demon reached around behind me, and I jumped. But he didn’t touch me, just turned the round handle, and pushed the door that was behind me open. The early morning sun was already lighting this room up. A room littered with pictures. Charcoal sketches, watercolour scenery and shadows and blood drawn onto canvas blocks in oil paints. Each was different, but each was similar. Dark figures dwelled on the paper, a scenery of shadows and chaos.

“All this,” Demon said again, “this is me coping. This is how I manage the anger. Mostly. Sometimes I can’t always control it.”

I nodded. Like the man he put through my car windows.

“These are all shapes and spectres.” My voice was a whisper, squeezing out through the panic that had swelled in my throat.

“I know. But after I met you, that anger turned to something else. It’s still anxiety, it still induces feelings in me that I don’t understand. So, when I tried to draw, to make it go away, you were the only thing I could see. The only thing that I could draw.”

“What happened in the night, then? What’s happening now? Are you angry?”

Demon shook his head. “What you told me last night about how you got that scar? That made me angry. Angry in a way I’ve never felt before. I can’t describe it. It was like I wanted to break something. Break someone. I tried to sleep but I couldn’t. So, I got up and started drawing.”

I studied his face. His dark eyes piercing mine, the slightest of flickers as he tried to read my expression in return.

“Please, Ciara. I’m not totally crazy. Just a little. And I can control that crazy. And I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

I bit my lip, the bottom one wobbling, emotions ricocheting inside of me. Fear. Uncertainty. Sadness. Even happiness. Frigging masochistic emotion that it was.

“Demon. I…”

“I promise, darlin’. I would never hurt you. I’m obsessed. You fill my mind and my paper.”

I nodded. At no one in particular. And then sighed. A long exhalation of air, releasing the anxiety and tension that had been filling my veins.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, embarrassment flushing on my cheeks. “Sometimes I just panic. Sometimes random things just set me off.”

“You don’t have to apologise for who you are, Ciara. I love you as you are.”

Love? Did he just say the ‘L’ word?

“Demon…I…”

Demon placed his finger against my lips.

“Shsssh. You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to even feel the same way. But I’m in love with you, Ciara. I have been since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Yeah, those short shorts have that effect on people.” I smiled. It was weak and unconvincing, but I tried.

“No. From the moment you got out of your car after you tried to run me off the road.”

“I didn’t run you off the road. I…”

Demon’s lips curled at one side, the smirk forming, his dark eyes lightening. Just a little. He said the ‘L’ word. No one had said that to me. Not once. Never in my whole life. And I didn’t know what to do with it. But I knew what my instincts were telling me, and that was to run. Run away. Far away.