Page 10 of The Devil's Waltz

We’ve known each other for over a decade. Ever since my mother showed a sliver of decency and took him in when his parents abandoned him in a murder-suicide when we were both thirteen. To this day, neither of us know much about what happened. Just that Blake’s mother stabbed his father in the heart with an obsidian blade before turning it on herself. We still don’t know why.

It didn’t take long for my mother to start his training with the most talented, high-level demons to make him my personal guard. In formal terms, that’s what he is now, but he’s always been more like my brother. Blake would die for me—I just hope he never has to.

How’s your little project going?

Fuck off.

No need to be mean. I’m just messing with you.

I don’t bother responding before slipping my phone back into my pocket. A few minutes later, I return to Camille with our drinks and aplate with two chocolate croissants. I set the plate down on the glass table in front of the couch, then hand Camille her chai latte, a faint sweetness and spice wafting from it.

“Thank you,” she says. “Next time is on me.”

I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips as I sit. “Next time, huh?”

When the steaming mug is halfway to her lips, Camille realizes what she said. “Oh,” she rushes to say, “I just mean that—”

“Hey,” I interject, “don’t try to take it back now. I’m going to hold you to it.”

She lowers her drink, staring into it with a small smile and quietly replies, “Okay.”

I take a drink of my Americano, giving Camille a moment to actually try her latte. “How is it?”

“Mmm, it’s perfect,” she says. “It always tastes so much better when someone else makes it.”

I chuckle. “Fair enough.” Shifting the conversation, I say, “You mentioned you were in class this morning. What are you studying?”

She sets her mug on the coffee table and leans against the back of the couch, tucking one leg under her. Some of the tension in my shoulders eases as she makes herself more comfortable before saying, “Political science. I’m going to rule the world someday.”

Something in the deepest, darkest depths of me awakens at that, clinging to the weight of those words. She has no idea how dangerous they are. The sparkle in her eyes tells me she’s joking, but the monster in me doesn’t care. It’s practically purring with delight.

“What about you?” she asks.

I cock my head to the side, letting my gaze roam over her face. “Am I going to rule the world someday?”

She scoffs halfheartedly as she tries not to smile, then shakes her head. “Smart-ass. Are you in school?”

On paper.

I nod. “I’m studying philosophy.”

Her eyes widen a bit, and she nods. “That’s heavy.”

I reach for the plate of croissants, offering the first one to her. “And poli-sci is all rainbows and puppies, I’m sure.”

Camille takes the buttery pastry, shooting me an amused look. “A lot of it is boring as hell, to be honest, but I have this naive idea that I couldtruly make a change for the good one day. I want to help people, and there are so many ways to do that.”

“I wouldn’t call that naive, Camille. It’s admirable.” I tear off a piece of my croissant and bite into it, enjoying the flaky sweetness as it melts on my tongue.

“Thanks,” she says softly, taking a bite of hers before setting it back on the plate between us. “Do you know what you’ll use your degree for?”

“Not a clue,” I answer honestly.

She offers me a thoughtful smile. “Well, you still have time to figure out what you want to do with your future.”

If I had any say in my future, it’d be an encouraging notion. I shove down the bitterness that brings up, burying it deep. Camille has no idea—and she can never know—that my future isn’t my own. It never will be.

“I could say the same to you.”

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