Page 30 of The Devil's Waltz

I should step back. Turn and walk away. Instead, I slant my mouth over hers, kissing her slowly, softly.

When I pull back, Camille presses a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth and murmurs, “Good night, Xander.”

Once she’s inside, I walk back to my car with an unfamiliar pressure in my chest and a thumping in my rib cage. I have a hunch Camille is going to challenge everything I know, and I’ll be wholly unprepared for what’s to come.

TENCAMILLE

In the days following the second demon attack I’ve experienced in a week, the pit in my stomach doesn’t show any signs of dissipating.

I killed a demon.

During my years of training before I left the hunter organization, I didn’t have any kills. Missions potentially featuringrealaction are reserved for senior trainees.

I never made it that far.

Needless to say, Xander and I got lucky. I’m not naive enough to believe my very minimal training would’ve been enough to keep us alive. That demon must’ve been weakened or caught off guard facing off with the same hunter she escaped previously. There’s no way I would have stood a chance against a high-level demon.

That said, something in me clicked the moment I needed most. I acted on instinct, using Xander’s dagger to turn the demon attacking him to ash. Looking back on it, it feels like a distant, dreamlike memory—as if I blacked out or acted without conscious thought. The more I think about it, the more conflicted I feel, which is likely the reason for my chronically upset stomach.

The few times I’ve seen Harper this week—in between classes and her training sessions—I kept what happened to myself. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it, and I don’t want to give Harper false hope there’s a chance I’ll return to the academy. More than that, I’m worried she’ll relay what happened to my mom, and that’s definitely not a conversation I’m ready to have.

Besides, Xander must have reported it, so there’s really no need to involve more hunters. He was understanding when I asked him to leave my involvement out of whatever account he’d make, but there’s still a part of me that’s waiting for a call from my mom.

By Saturday I haven’t heard from her, so I try my best to let that worry go, and focus on my studies. I spend the morning at work, then stay at the café a few hours longer, taking over one of the tables near the front window to make progress on an assignment I have due next week.

Making good on his promise of a better date, Xander texts me with plans to take me to dinner tonight. I head home with just enough time to shower and blow dry my hair, then tug on a knee-length, strapless black dress and heels before applying a bit of makeup. I’m swiping on a thin layer of lip balm when the buzzer sounds, and I rush over, pressing the intercom to let him into the building.

The air gets caught in my lungs when I open the door and my gaze lands on Xander standing there. He’s in a black dress shirt and pants, with his hair stylishly tousled and a faint grin on his lips. Then my eyes drop to the bouquet of deep red roses.

“Hey,” I murmur, my heart beating faster as I step back so he can come inside.

“You look stunning,” he says in greeting, closing the distance between us and dipping his face to gently kiss my cheek before handing me the flowers.

The scent of his cologne paired with his proximity makes me stutter out a quiet thank you as I take the bouquet and walk into the kitchen to put it in a vase with water.

Xander follows, leaning against the island counter and watching me. His attention has my nerve endings tingling.

There’s a newly familiar part of me that wants to blow off our dinner reservations. To explore the sensations rippling through me as Xander moves closer, smoothly taking the vase from me and sliding the bouquet into the water.

He sets it on the counter and turns to face me. “Ready for dinner? I made a reservation at Lowell’s.”

My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since my break at work hours ago. I swallow past the dryness in my throat and nod. “That sounds good.”

There’s a glint of humor in his eyes, and for half a second, panic spikes in my chest, thinking he can sense the warring feelings in me. But then he steps back and offers me his arm. I accept it, grabbing my clutch off the island, and we walk out of my apartment.

The restaurant is packed when we arrive. The hostess takes us to our table and sets the menus down before hurrying back to serve the people who came in behind us. We’re seated on the third floor by a large window overlooking the bay. The view is stunning, especially with the sun setting at the perfect spot, so it isn’t blinding through the window. The muted pinks and blues in the sky are blended together beautifully.

After we’ve ordered our drinks and food, the waiter leaves us alone.

Xander reaches across the table toward me until his fingers graze mine. “Do you want to talk about what happened the other night?” he asks, turning his hand up to offer me his palm.

I slide my fingers into his, and he brushes his thumb back and forth over the top of my hand.

“Are you asking as a hunter or my—” I stop myself before the word can leave my lips. Heat floods my cheeks, and I drop my gaze to the table.

Xander squeezes my hand. “Would it change your answer if I asked as your boyfriend?”

My gaze jumps back up to meet his, and I find him grinning softly. I shake my head, struggling to string together words to answer him. Instead, I ask, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” The word tastes odd on my tongue. It doesn’t feel significant enough for the emotions fluttering in my belly, and that alone is terrifying.

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