Oliver’s green eyes stayed glued on me, realization and understanding brimming in his expression. His lips pressed together in a thin line.
I avoided his scrutiny. I didn’t want to see the pity that would soon surface. It’s always the fracking pity. I changed the subject. “You should get that looked at.” I gestured to the cut on his arm. Though it had stopped bleeding, it still looked deep.
Oliver followed my gaze and shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt. I’ve had worse injuries.”
Oh, right. He’s a soldier. “So, did you use your powers? During the battle with the Spanish?”
Alarm flickered across his face, and he laughed. “What? Of course not!”
My eyes raked up and down his uniform, which was covered in dirt and soot. He still smelled of gunpowder, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “No blood,” I said. “No injuries. I just assumed.”
Oliver crossed his arms. I couldn’t help but notice his uniform bunched where his muscles bulged. “Maybe I’m just a good soldier.”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Maybe.”
Oliver shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Part of what sets us apart from demons is that we value mortals. We also value our secrecy. It preserves the peace between us. If I’d outed myself, you think they would’ve let me fight?”
“Fighting was important to you, then?”
Oliver stiffened. “Yes. Cuba deserves to be free.”
I thought of Manuel. “And is it free? Or did the power just shift from Spain to America?”
Oliver laughed again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wagged a scolding finger at me. “You’ve been spending too much time with Manuel. You can’t pull that trick on me. I’m half Cuban.”
I wanted to laugh in his face. Being half Cuban doesn’t mean it’s not true. He’s an American soldier. He lives in America. Of course he doesn’t see it this way. Instead, I lifted my hands in surrender. “You’re right. Sorry. I don’t know anything about Cuba. Or America—in this time period, at least. You’re the expert.”
Oliver frowned and cocked his head at me. “Well, I never said I was an expert.”
“Oh, don’t be modest. Demonhunter, soldier, and Cuban expert? You must be a jack of all trades. Are you also a professional singer? A boxer? A seamstress?”
Oliver laughed and rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just teasing me.” He squinted at me thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, what was that thing you did back there? Some kind of . . . dance?”
I grinned. “Technically, it was a stretch. But yes, I dance. Ballet.”
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow! That’s impressive.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. A little.”
Oliver laughed, and I joined in.
“So where are we going, anyway?” I asked.
Oliver jerked his head forward. “Following the stench of demon.”
I matched his pace. “You can smell them?”
“Can’t you?” His eyes cut to me with an accusation.
“No. I can smell powerful spells, though.”
Oliver chuckled. “You must not be much of a Huntress in your time then.” His eyes immediately closed, his expression pained. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no,” I said lightly, though my chest burned from his implication. Brush it off, Desi, I told myself. He doesn’t know you, and you don’t want him to. “You’re right. I’m not a Huntress. Things are different in my time.” The defense sounded lame to my ears.
“So demons don’t attack anyone in your time?”
“No, they do.”
“So there aren’t Hunters and Huntresses in your time?”
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “There are, but—”
“But what?” Oliver pressed.
“I just—I don’t want any part of it. In my time, we aren’t outnumbered, and we have a lot more freedom to choose. There isn’t a draft or a pressing need for volunteers. I can let the real experts handle the demons while I . . .” I trailed off, my voice lowering. While I do nothing. While I hide from it all.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped walking until Oliver stopped beside me. His olive-colored eyes were somber. Understanding. I knew he could hear the self-loathing in my voice. The words I hadn’t spoken.
My eyes felt hot. I didn’t want to see pity in his face. Don’t you dare pity me. A lump formed in my throat, and I dropped my gaze and shuffled my feet. After clearing my throat, I asked, “Where’s your Familiar?”
“We don’t have them. There aren’t enough witches and warlocks to spare.”
I nodded and sniffed.
Oliver stepped closer to me, and my eyes darted up to his in alarm. His eyes were tender and cautious. The smell of grass and gunpowder filled my nose as he drew nearer.
“I don’t know you, Desi,” he said in a low voice that made my stomach twist and turn. “But I know you’re hurting. You don’t have to talk about it, but you have to face it someday. It already looks like it’s catching up with you. Don’t hide from it for too long.”
My brow furrowed, and I opened my mouth to object, but a scuffling sound nearby stopped me.
Oliver and I both turned to gaze at the cluster of empty shops in front of us. We waited, and my heart hammered against my chest.
There it was. A scurrying sound, like someone was shuffling their feet. An incoherent groan and a whimper. A deep slurping sound.
“Oh, Lilith,” I swore.
I darted into the nearest shop, its door already wide open. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I squinted as I looked around for the source of the noise.
Oliver appeared behind me. “There,” he whispered, pointing.
In the back corner by a set of empty shelves rested two large, dark shapes. One wasn’t moving. The other was bent over the first shape, gulping loudly.
My hands flew up and I Pushed the demon away from his victim. He hissed in surprise and anger as I thrust him against the wall. His skin was pale and sickly, his eyes a venomous red. Long fangs protruded from his mouth, and they dripped with blood. A vampire.
“Hold him there,” Oliver muttered as he hurried over to the victim.
My fingers shook as my hands hovered in midair. The vampire scrambled and flailed like a
