Page 3 of The Devil's Waltz

Fear grips me, like ice in my veins. A dull ringing fills my ears as my entire body continues throbbing painfully.

I’m going to die. Just like Danielle.

She warned me. Begged me to get out of the world of demon hunting. I held onto her as the life left her brown eyes—eyes that matched mine so closely we almost looked like twins—and promised her I would.

I grit my teeth and fight to shove down the terror clogging my throat.

Demons feed off the fear of humans. They also create it in their victims, usually through nightmares while they’re sleeping. Sometimes they do it in visions while the human is awake. But they aren’t known for attacking so…openly. They’re not conspicuous in their attacks, preferring to stay in the shadows to go undetected. Their stealth also keeps the general population blissfully unaware of their existence. I’ve been away from the supernatural world long enough that perhaps their hunting tactics have changed, but still—this feelstargeted. Otherwise, what the hell is a demon doing hanging out behind a café?

Said demon opens his mouth, as if he’s going to taunt me some more, and—

“Let her go.”

The unfamiliar voice has my lips parting in a silent, hopeful gasp as my attacker slowly turns his head. I follow his gaze, and an embarrassing level of relief fills me when my eyes land on a male figure stalking toward us. His stride is measured, confident, but it’s the obsidian-bladed dagger in his grip that holds my attention. He’s a hunter.

The demon cackles, and I take the opportunity to throw myself forward, slamming my knee into his stomach, and duck under his arm. Stumbling to the side, my entire body throbs, and I cringe at the warmth of blood dripping down my face and onto my T-shirt.

When the demon’s gaze whips back toward me, his eyes are completely black again. A stark reminder that I’m dealing with a soulless monster. “Stupid girl,” he snarls, then turns his back to me, advancing on the hunter in a blur of white hair and darkness. Clearly, he knows the stranger is a bigger threat than I am.

I battle with the urge to fight, surprised to feel it at this moment after so long, and the knowledge I don’t have the training to do much but get in the way. My head is throbbing to the point dark spots are dancing across my vision and my knees threaten to give out any minute. Frustration makes my eyes burn with unshed tears. I’ve never felt so helpless as I do watching this hunter who just saved my life take on the demon who would’ve ended it. Clenching my jaw at the pit growing in my stomach, I tense as the hunter ducks to avoid the demon’s fist flying toward his face.

His slate-gray eyes meet mine for a breath before focusing back on the demon.

I can’t tear my gaze away from the way they dance around each other. The demon is faster, of course—he has preternatural speed on his side—but this hunter’s skills are sharp. He moves smoothly, swinging his fist and catching the demon in the jaw once, twice,threetimes before he jumps back to avoid the demon’s snapping teeth.

There’s a part of me that recognizes my window of opportunity to escape shrinks the longer I stand immobile. But I still don’t leave. Can’t. My knees bump together as the muscles in my legs protest, barely keeping me upright.

My pulse jackhammers at the sound of a vicious snarl, and my chest tightens as I hold my breath. Bile rises in my throat and my skin tingles in a way I’ve gotten too used to experiencing.

The panic attacks started soon after I lost my sister. Facing the same kind of monster who stole her from me brings every awful memory to the forefront of my thoughts. No matter how hard I try to shake the feeling, to force myself to move, I’m completely powerless to the visions and sensations consuming me.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I steal a glance at the door to the café. If I can convince my legs to work again, I can sneak inside and call Harper for backup. I take a tentative step, my limbs heavy and wholly uncooperative, and keep my eyes trained forward. I freeze when the hunter growls in pain, stumbling as the demon swats him sideways.

He hits the building with a grunt, then quickly recovers, tightening his grip on his dagger.

In seconds, the demon moves in front of him again, grabbing him by the throat and lifting his feet off the ground.

The hunter’s choppy, dark brown hair sweeps across his forehead and is damp with sweat, his eyes widening as they fall on the demon’s face. Death shines in the hunter’s eyes, and terror seizes me anew, flooding my veins with more ice.

My mouth opens in a silent scream, my vocal cords too tight to make a sound. I start moving away, but I don’t get far before the hunter kicks out, catching the demon hard in the groin.

He snarls in pain and drops the hunter onto the concrete.

The hunter coughs as he fights to refill his lungs with air, then pops back up before his opponent can recover. He strikes with a catlike, deadly grace, slamming his obsidian blade deep into the monster’s chest.

The demon’s all-black eyes go wide, a vein popping in his forehead, and his guttural scream fills the alley before he disintegrates into a pile of black ash.

TWOXANDER

She is not at all what I was expecting.

Her heart is a caged bird throwing itself against the gilded bars, trying to beat free of her chest. But the moment the obsidian blade turns the low-level demon to ash at my feet, her fear swiftly morphs into anger. Her russet-brown eyes narrow into an icy glare that has my brows stitching in confusion.

“Are you okay?” I wipe the weapon clean on my pant leg before returning it to the sheath at my thigh. Exhaling a heavy breath, I keep my gaze trained on where the brown-haired girl has pressed her back to the brick exterior of the café.

Her eyes stay locked on the remnants of her attacker, her hands curling into tight balls as she fists them at her sides. “I’m…fine,” she grits out, a muscle feathering along her jaw as she tears her focus away from the pile of ash.

I take a tentative step closer to her, tilting my head as I study her face, not missing the way her breath catches or the faster rising and falling of her chest. “You’re bleeding,” I offer in a soft tone, the coppery scent burning my nostrils.

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