Page 76 of The Devil's Waltz

Blake sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He hasn’t dyed it in a while, so the pink is fading. “I think she’s going to either way, my friend.”

The tension unfurling in my chest tells me he’s right, but I ignore it all the same. There’s no turning back now.

“Do you know what you’re going to say to her?” he asks as we sit at a red light. He swipes through his playlist without letting any song play for more than a few seconds.

I glance out the windshield at the concrete jungle ahead. The sky is overcast, threatening rain, but the streets are still packed with crowds of people. “Not a fucking clue,” I admit, scratching my jaw. “I’m hoping the words will come to me when I see her.”

Blake snorts. “That’s the most ridiculously naive thing you’ve said in a long time.”

I scowl, leaning back against the headrest. “Yeah, well, what do you suggest I say?”

A lopsided grin curves his lips. “You really want to know?”

Probably not. “Forget it,” I grumble.

Half an hour of New York traffic—aka the human world’s closest thing to hell—later, we arrive at the St. Regis and check into our suite.

I drop my duffle bag on the end of the bed before sinking down beside it. This tangled web of deceit has escalated much faster than I’d been expecting. While it might’ve been stupid of me to think I could get through this without growing some form of attachment to my target, it’s painfully clear now I haven’t escaped it.

I thought it would be so fucking simple. Seduce and persuade Camille to turn against the organization she already hates and give Lucia what she wants. Then I’d disappear for the rest of my life, never having to face the monster who did everything she could to make me one too. And maybe in some ways and to some people I am, but that’s never who—neverwhat—I wanted to be.

But Lucia took that choice away from me when she decided to use me as a pawn. It’s not something I wanted to do to Camille, but it’s whatI have to do to break free from the hell I’ve been stuck in long after I left the twisted demonic realm itself.

“That’s quite the pensive look,” Blake comments, slinking toward me with a crystal glass of bourbon.

I push my fingers through my hair, exhaling a heavy sigh. I’m at a loss on exactly how to start the conversation. The mounting pressure in my chest is desperate to be let out. Instead of overthinking it a moment longer, I finally settle on, “Do you ever think about getting out?”

Blake cocks his head to the side, peering at me with a glint of curiosity in his gaze. “Getting out of what?”

I clench my jaw, rubbing my hands on my thighs before meeting his gaze, which is shrouded with confusion. “This life. Don’t you feel like it isn’t your own? For years now, you’ve been ordered to put my life above yours, no matter the cost. And you have, without failure or even a split second of hesitation.”

Any hint of humor or amusement vanishes from his face as his features sharpen into focus and he steps forward. “My life is yours,” he says in a deep, level tone.

I shake my head. “That’s not—”

“It’syours, Xander,” he continues firmly, “for many reasons, but most importantly, because I’d be dead without you.”

I don’t say anything for a short eternity. My pulse ticks unnervingly fast, and the intensity in Blake’s eyes makes the pressure in my chest heighten tenfold. If the intention of his declaration is to bring me calmness, it does the opposite. His loyalty, as precious as it is, means I have more to lose. More for Lucia to take from me if I step even slightly out of line.

“You may change your mind after this trip.”

Blake cracks a grin and claps me on the shoulder. “Nice try,” he says. “You’re not getting rid of me. I’m here until the bitter end, my friend.”

I exhale a laugh. “Yeah, maybe don’t joke about that.”

He arches a brow. “Who’s joking?” Downing the rest of his bourbon, he smacks his lips. “Now, come on. Let’s get you a drink and then you can tell me why you decided it was necessary to follow your whatever-you-want-to-call-her all the way to New York. Despite it being one of the highest populated hunter cities in the world.” His tone is casual, flippant, but the lingering concern in his gaze tells me he’s completely serious.

“That’s probably going be a three-drink conversation,” I offer grimly as I stand.

Blake drops his arm over my shoulders and chuckles. “Well, then. It’s a good thing you’re buying.”

We ride the elevator downstairs and find a small table in the quiet corner of the King Cole Bar. It’s a sleek, elegant space filled with dark tones and wooden accents. The subtle scents of high-end perfume and expensive liquor mingle with the soft buzz of conversation around us. The patrons appear to be a mix of businesspeople and tourists, and the overall feel is still very upscale yet warm.

Blake and I keep our heads down, leaning close to not be overheard.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, mate?” he asks, skimming the cocktail menu.

I rub my jaw, catching the gaze of the waiter across the room, who offers a smile that suggests he’ll be coming by our table shortly. With a sigh, I turn my attention back to Blake. “You’re still keeping your ear to the ground these days, yeah?”

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