Page 86 of The Devil's Waltz

I lower my gaze to my lap, pressing my lips together when my cheeks fill with warmth. My breath catches when he reaches over and slides his fingers along my jaw to cup my cheek, tilting my face back up.

“I understand I’ve done nothing to deserve your trust or your forgiveness for deceiving you when we met, but I’m going to do everything in my power to earn it.” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Can you trust that?”

“I want to,” I whisper.

The corner of his mouth tugs into a faint smile as he leans closer. “I’ll take it.”

We stare at each other for a few beats, my pulse pounding as I struggle to put words to the mess of emotions tangling in my chest.

“I’m sorry.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can rein them in, and confusion flickers in his gaze. I continue, “I’m sorry you never had the opportunity to meet your father.” I’m not sure if it was Xander’s comment about knowing Lucia only cares about the power he can bring her, or having dinner with my own father earlier, but I’m reminded that Xander doesn’t have that option. He has no connection to his human family. No ties to his humanity—none except me.

He rests his forehead against mine, closing his eyes as a soft sigh escapes his lips. “Mo shíorghrá.”

He’s called me that several times since the night we spent together, and I never could find a proper translation. I finally ask what I’ve wanted to for a while. “What does that mean?”

Xander opens his eyes, pulling back just enough to look into mine, and there’s a beat of hesitation before he murmurs, “It’s Irish formy eternal love. Of the very few details I’ve been able to gather on the human side of my family, my ancestors immigrated to the United States from Ireland over a century ago.”

I slide my hand up his chest, curling my fingers around the back of his neck and brushing my lips against his. “Xander,” I breathe, my heart thumping wildly.

He dips his face, sealing his lips over mine before I can contemplate what a bad idea this is. In a matter of seconds, our kiss becomes feverish, desperate, as if we’re both using it to say what we can’t seem to aloud.

This fight goes far beyond us. It’s about Lucia and her horrific plan to eliminate the hunters, which I have to think would lead to unleashing hell on earth, because why else would she do it? I can’t see her wanting a place for demons to live peacefully when they thrive on chaos and strife.

There’s no happy ending for humans if Lucia wins.

Xander pulls away first, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and his lips linger there as we catch our breaths.

There’s a new pain, a startling realization that fills my chest and digs unforgiving claws into my heart.

I don’t want to lose him.

As we sit in silence, holding onto each other as if we’re both equally terrified to let go, my resolve hardens.

This plan to stop Lucia, to send her back to hell—it has to work.

TWENTY-FIVEXANDER

The hotel suite is quiet when I pry my eyes open sometime in the morning. I slept like shit, on and off through the night, and the lethargy clinging to my muscles tells me the sleep I did get wasn’t restful.

I roll over and swipe my phone off the nightstand, finding a message from Blake.

I’m picking up breakfast at the coffee shop down the street. Take a shower and get dressed before I come back. We have people we need to meet with.

He only sent the message a few minutes ago, so I figure I still have enough time before he gets back and curses me out for not being ready.

I haul my ass out of bed and into the en suite, cranking the shower as hot as it’ll go. Once steam fills the room, I undress and step under the water, where I scrub my hair and skin until everything is tingling and red. I get out and grab the clothes off the vanity that Blake must have laid out for me. Black dress pants and a navy button-up dress shirt. There are multiple hair products and even an expensive bottle of cologne.

By the time the keycard beeps to unlock the suite door, I’m sitting in the wingback chair in the seating area, spinning my phone between my thumb and finger. I’m fighting the urge to check in with Camille after last night, after hearing her say she wants to give us a fighting chance. Beyond that, I find myselfwantingto make this work. To come up with all the ways I’m going to make it up to her for how we met and the things I’ve done.

Unfortunately, none of those ways matter if all of us are dead. Which is a very real possibility if Lucia catches on to what we’re doing.

Blake walks in with his typical upbeat swagger, carrying a brown bag and a tray with to-go cups of coffee, by the smell of it. He sets them on the coffee table between us and drops into the chair across from me.

He frowns at me. “I know, I look ridiculous, but the demons we’re meeting with today likely wouldn’t appreciate my normal attire.”

Now it’s my turn to frown. Blake has never let what others think of him dictate how he lives his life. The fact he’s changing such a huge part of himself only speaks to the magnitude of what we’re attempting.

“Eat.” He nods toward the table. “I got you a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel. Oh, and a chocolate croissant because they looked fucking amazing.”

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