Page 43 of The Devil We Crave
“I didn’t imagine that was the case,” he says in a low, even tone. His baritone voice hums around me, circling my throat like a lover’s finger tracing my skin.
“But isn’t that why you’re so interested in me?” I croak.
Achilles says nothing.
“Sowhy?!” I finally yell, my whole body jolting as the pressure releases. “Why are you so interested in me?! “Why the hell are you?—”
I gasp sharply, trembling as Achilles suddenly surges into me and wraps a strong hand around my throat. His big fingers press on my skin, and a whimper rattles from my chest as my wide eyes stare up into his hauntingly beautiful face.
“Because you caught my attention,little prey,” he growls.
I hear footsteps on gravel behind me. With a jolt, I pull away, whirling toward the sound.
“Someone’s coming,” I say. When there’s nothing but silence in reply, I glance back to Achilles. “Someone's?—”
He’s gone.
I whirl in shock, feeling I’ve somehowmisplacedthe six-foot-four demigod who was just standing right behind me.
“Lena?”
I whirl back, blinking in surprise to see Damiano walking around the bend in the cliffside path. Like Achilles, he’s all in black—t-shirt, pants, shoes, and…
Gloves.
He’s also got one hand behind his back.
What the hell…?
“Who were you talking to?” he says in a concerned tone.
“No one,” I lie, then nod at him with my chin. “What’s behind your back?”
Damiano’s face is utterly neutral. But there’s tension in his body.
“Nothing,” he shrugs.
I do love my not-really-cousin. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times when he just seemsoff. Not a dangerous off, and not a “this is me without the mask” off, like Achilles. Just…I don’t know…
Off.
I sometimes wonder if my opinion of him is shaped by knowing his dad, Carmine Barone, islegita little psycho, though it’s clear Damiano’s mother, Lyra, manages to dull the edges of it.
Damiano isn’t his father. But you know what they say. Apples…trees.
He frowns, glancing around like he’s looking for something. “What are you doing out here, Yelena?”
“Running?” I answer honestly.
Mostlyhonestly.
“Alone,” he growls. “At night.”
Maybe not so alone…
“Dame, it’s fine. Knightsblood is a closed campus, with guards?—”
“Likefuckit’s fine,” he grunts. “I’m walking you home.” He pauses, frowning for a second, his head half-turning to glance at the arm behind his back.
