Page 5 of The Devil's Waltz

She eyes it suspiciously before uncrossing her arms and sliding her hand into mine, giving it a brief shake before pulling back. She doesn’t recross them.

I hope it’s a sign I’m making progress with her. “And yours?” I ask.

“I don’t believe for a second that you don’t already know it.”

My brows lift at the certainty in her voice. Despite the underlying warning that causes, I find myself intrigued by it. This back and forth with her, while dangerous, is quite entertaining. “Why’s that?”

“Well, Xander, from what I saw tonight, you’re good at what you do. Considering that, I’m sure you’re well known in the organization. Which, of course, means you’re well known to my parents. The very same people who have been trying to rope me back into training since the day I walked away from it.”

Part of me relaxes at the confirmation she doesn’t know why I’m truly here. She thinks this was a setup arranged by her parents.

Rachel and Scott Morgan are something of a legend in the world of demons and hunters. From what I’ve heard, even after their divorce, they continued training and working with hunter recruits as a team. Married more to their work than each other. Perhaps that has something to do with their daughter’s reluctance to join the organization. Of course, the main reason comes from losing her sister during a demon attack five years ago. But I’m sure the complicated relationship with and between her parents doesn’t help.

“Look…” I pause, holding her gaze as I wait for her to give me her name. She needs to think I don’t already know it.

After a beat of silence, she offers, “Camille.”

“Camille,” I echo before continuing, “Your parents didn’t send me. You have no reason to believe me, considering we just met—in the midst of a demon attack, no less—but I’m telling the truth.”

“You’re right.” Camille slides off the barstool. “I don’t believe you.”

I nod but don’t move away. “Fair enough.”

The top of her head is level with my chin, and she tips her head back to meet my gaze. For a moment, we stand there silently. Her eyes roam over my face, studying me, and I soak up the warmth that comes with her attention. I’m enjoying it.

“Are your parents also hunters?”

My lips twitch, though some of that warmth fizzles away. “No.”Far from it.

She arches a brow. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. I’m just thinking after learning who your parents are that we may have more in common than either of us realizes.” I note the confusion on her face and continue, “My mother wasn’t around much while I was growing up, and I’ve never met my father.”

The hardness in her eyes softens, and she drops her gaze, her lashes fanning her high cheekbones. “Oh. That’s…I’m sorry.” Her voice is gentle, and I can’t help but notice the tinge of pink in her cheeks.

Reaching out, I touch her shoulder so she’ll look at me again. “We don’t choose our family,” I say. “I’m sorry your relationship with your parents isn’t what you’d like either.”

Camille nods, seeming to relax a little. “Thanks. Mostly for saving my ass, but for this, too.”

I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze before lowering my arm back to my side. “You need a ride home?”

She lets out a breath, putting space between us as she walks to the other side of the kitchen, grabbing a jacket and purse off a hook on the wall. “No. My car is a few blocks away, but thanks. I was about to finish closing up and head out for the night.”

I nod. “Do you want me to stay? I don’t mind.”

A hint of a smile touches her lips as she shoulders the purse and folds the jacket over her arm. “I’m okay. You can go. I’m sure you have someplace else to be.”

“On a Tuesday at almost midnight?” I remark in a teasing tone. “Yes, I am overwhelmingly busy.”

She offers me a dry look. “Funny.” Glancing toward the doorway leading to the café, she sighs. “If you really want to hang around, I can only offer you bottom-of-the-pot coffee or a day-old blueberry muffin.”

I close the distance between us in a matter of a few steps. “How about your phone number?”

A surprised laugh escapes her lips. “Yeah, that’s not on the menu.”

My lips curl into a grin as I hold her gaze. “No?” Leaning toward her, I add, “Come on. What are you so afraid of?”

Camille lifts her chin—as if she’s triggered by the challenge in my tone. “Why do you want it?”

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