Page 19 of The Devil's Waltz

“Good morning,” he says in a light tone.

I round the couch and walk toward the kitchen. “Xander, I am so sorry. I—”

“Don’t be,” he cuts in smoothly. “Coffee?”

I stop mid-stride, my pulse in my throat as I take in his casual appearance, a light gray T-shirt and black sweatpants that he likely slept in. “I… Um, sure. Thanks.”

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, retrieving two mugs from the cupboard behind him. He sets them on the island counter that separates us.

“Yeah.” I consider it for a moment. Despite the mortification I felt upon discovering I’d fallen asleep during our date and inadvertently spent the night, I am well-rested. “I really didn’t intend to crash on your couch.” Sliding onto the barstool I occupied at dinner last night, I tap my fingers against my thighs.

Xander chuckles, raking a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “It’s not a problem, Camille. You’re welcome anytime. I would have carried you to the bedroom to sleep more comfortably, but I didn’t want to upset you.”

The idea of spending the night in his bed renders me speechless and immediately fills my thoughts, and I can’t shake it out. I finally find my voice and say, “I appreciate the consideration.”

He nods. “I was going to make breakfast, if you want to stay.”

My chest quickly tightens, my throat going dry. When I inhale, it’s uneven, and each breath is harder to take. Breakfast after spending the night makes this entire thing feel too real. Like we skipped a bunch of steps, and it’s setting something off inside me.

“Camille—”

“Maybe another time.” I slip off the stool, grabbing my phone and purse from the counter. “I actually have to get to work, but, um, thanks for a nice night.”

He frowns, and dammit, even that looks attractive. “Are you—Have I upset you?”

“No, no,” I say quickly, inching toward the door as my throat constricts. “I just…I’m sorry. I have to go.” I spin on my heel and hurry toward the door, shoving my feet into my shoes as I open it, then speed walk to the elevator. The pressure in my chest doesn’t dissipate until I’m in my car, driving away from Xander’s apartment. I feel ridiculous over my reaction. Last night was amazing, and it’s clear he wasn’t put off by what happened, but I can’t seem to shake the tendrils of anxiety winding through my rib cage like barbed wire.

At home, I flop onto the couch and groan to the empty apartment. Fishing my phone out of my purse, I send Phoebe a text to meet up. I need a distraction so I don’t spend the entirety of my Sunday dwelling over something that likely isn’t as big of a deal as I’m making it.

An hour later, after a change of clothes, I meet her at the Starbucks near her place to go over next week’s class materials. We order blueberry muffins and drinks—an iced chai latte for me and a matcha for her—then find a quiet spot in the corner of the busy café.

“How’s your weekend been?” I ask after taking a sip of my latte.

“Boring,” Phoebe says around a mouthful of muffin. “Grayson went to Vancouver to visit his brother, so I spent yesterday cleaning my apartment and online shopping. Well, I added about five hundred dollars’ worth of smutty romance books to my cart and then closed the tab, because money.” She sighs, her disappointment evident in the heaviness of it. “How about you?”

I hesitate, not sure how to go about telling her about my date with Xander, worrying that bringing it up will make the struggle to breathe return. I take a slow inhale, then let it out and spill my guts about the whole night.

“Oh, girl,” she says with a laugh. “First off, I promise he doesn’t care nearly as much as you do. It’s not a big deal. So, you fell asleep on his couch. He probably loved it. Second, I need to know everything about this guy who is making you blush like the cutest little smitten kitten.”

I press my lips together against a smile, the weight on my chest easing more with each breath.

SEVENXANDER

My apartment feels colder since Camille fled an hour ago. It’s utterly ridiculous. Pathetic, even. I attempt to forget it by turning on the water to scalding and stepping under the rainfall shower head. I stay there, scrubbing my fingers through my hair, then over my skin until it’s nearly raw.

After I get dressed in the first pair of jeans and T-shirt I grab from my dresser, I return to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter, I stare at where my phone sits on the island, torn between checking on Camille and giving her space. I don’t believe for a second she rushed away to get to work. More likely, she panicked over spending the night on our second date. I said what I could think to reassure her, but there was no getting through her panic at that moment.

Needless to say, I have my work cut out for me.

This morning aside, I’m off to a decent start. But the setup of our first meeting didn’t help in the trust department like I’d planned for it to. I hadn’t expected her to believe her parents had sent me, though I suppose that was a better alternative than her seeing through my disguise.

I’m still not convinced she’s the answer to the never-ending power struggle between demons and hunters, though my mother seems to be confident in her plan to utilize the hunters’ daughter against them. To leverage the upper hand and make demands, either by corrupting Camille’s loyalty to her family or by using her life as a bargaining chip.

Lucia Kane is the most power hungry demon I’ve ever known. Since before I was born twenty-five years ago, she’s had my future mapped out—including exactly how she was going to use me to seize control of the human world.

There’s an obnoxious pounding at my door, and I immediately know who’s on the other side. I cross the apartment and open the door. “Since when do you knock?” I grumble at Blake.

His tall, broad form takes up most of the doorway and his vibrant green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Well, hello to you too, fucker,” he greets in a smooth voice. He picked up a British accent during our time in the UK and hung onto it when we came to Seattle. It’s been so long, I don’t remember what his voice used to sound like. He makes a scene of bowing at the waist, knowing full well that if anyone else spoke to me that way, they’d lose their heart. “I lost my key.”

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