Page 69 of The Devil's Waltz

Blake has owned this place for a few years, having opened it to cure his boredom at the time.

The atmosphere is subdued, and with no windows, the only light comes from exposed bulbs hanging from the wood-paneled ceiling. It feels more like an old-fashioned tavern than a bar, which is probably why I don’t mind spending time here. As an added bonus, it’s hidden from street view. You’d have to know it was here to find it.

Behind the wooden bar we’re sitting at, several glass shelves span the counter to the ceiling, filled with dozens of liquor bottles. Round tables and plush booths sit throughout the bar, offering secluded corners for those seeking a bit of privacy from the rest of the room. There’s a young couple having dinner in the far corner, speaking in hushed voices, and a few older men sit around one of the tables, grumbling about work as they toss back their beer. Soft rock music filters through the room and the smell of stale alcohol permeates the air. It’s the middle of the week, so the place is quiet enough to hold a conversation, though that’s the last thing I’m looking to do.

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” I grumble, because Blake won’t understand the emotions warring in my chest. Frankly, I can’t remember thelast time he genuinely gave a damn about anything. Most demons don’t, which is likely why Lucia sees my human side as a deficiency she wants to erase.

Blake shoves his hands into the pockets of his magenta windbreaker with a dramatic sigh. He tilts his head to the side, his bright pink hair falling across his forehead. “Is this whole pity party about that human girlfriend of yours?”

I rake my fingers through my hair before dragging my hand down my face, groaning inwardly. I’m not sure I can call her my anything anymore, though my hackles raise at the thought. The monster in me wholeheartedly believes she is mine. Which is slightly complicated when I think, at least now, she’d vehemently disagree. Though I can’t help but recall our last interaction.

You deserve the life you want. For once, choose yourself.

I’ve played her words over in my head to the point of a migraine more than once since that night. I can’t fathom a world where it could possibly work, despite the part of me that wants it.

It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. So long as my mother sits on her throne, determined to eradicate the hunters, what I want is irrelevant. And that makes it very difficult to care about anything, to fight the voices in my head that whisper at me constantly to let go of my grip on my humanity. But I can’t. It’s the only thing I have that, try as she might, Lucia can’t destroy.

Blake whistles softly. “Shit. You’ve got it bad, huh?”

A muscle feathers along my jaw, and my fingers itch to reach for the bottle between us. “It doesn’t matter.”

He nods. “Who are you trying to convince?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I repeat, “because Camille is never going to agree to Lucia’s demands. She’ll fight with everything she has to protect the people she loves.”

“I hear the disappointment in your voice,” he points out, lowering his voice. “You want to be one of those people.”

I shrug, tapping my thumb against the side of my empty glass as I meet his gaze. “I can’t be.”

Blake’s brows knit, and he shakes his head, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Fuck, Xander. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m…sorry.” The sincerity in his voice is rare. I’m used to a flippant, uncaring demon when I talk to myfriend. It’s been a long time since we’ve had this type of conversation, the kind that left unchecked, could turn dangerously vulnerable.

So I swipe the whiskey and pour us both another shot.

The street is quiet when I leave Blake’s an hour later with a decent buzz. He tried to convince me to crash at his place above the bar, but the urge to get outside was nagging at me. The music and chatter of conversation around the room was getting more irritating by the second.

I slip out the door while he’s grabbing bottles from the stockroom, and my phone vibrates in my pocket a minute later. I pull it out to find a message from Blake and fight back an eye roll.

Where the fuck did you go?

I’m going home. I don’t need a babysitter to walk six blocks.

Your mother will rip off my testicles if she finds out.

I shudder, shaking my head as I round the corner and type a response.

Thanks for that image, jackass. I can take care of myself.

Are you almost home? Text me as soon as you get there and fucking keep to yourself. There are hunters scouring the streets for your dumb ass.

Take the night off from worrying about me.

As fucking if. What are you up to?

I shove my phone back into my pocket without responding. The monster is banging against the bars of the cage. I’ve gotten fairly skilled at keeping it shut tight. Tonight, though, all I can think about is quieting the noise in my head and the pain in my chest. Giving in to my most carnal need is the only surefire way to find a reprieve from the human emotions plaguing me, but I know how dangerously addicting it is. Which is why Blake has had to pester me about feeding more and more these days. Because the more I feed, the easier it is to let the darkest parts of me take over. They call to me now as I prowl down the street, pushing my senses outward to keep tabs on my surroundings.

I pass a pizzeria with its front doors open to the street. Music and casual conversation mixes with the savory smell of bread and cheese.

I briefly consider walking inside, but there are too many humans to choose from. While some demons are able to feed on an entire room of people, that is not in my skill set.

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