Page 88 of The Devil's Waltz

Stopping at the front door, I face Blake and ask a question I should have earlier. “What about that experience makes him trustworthy?”

Blake chuckles. “Besides the fact you know I’m excellent at reading people? He put his life on the line to save mine when the warehouse we were partying at a few years ago was raided by hunters.”

I frown. “How come I didn’t know about that?”

He shrugs, reaching past me to ring the doorbell. “You didn’t need to. It all worked out fine.”

Before I have a chance to say anything else, the door swings open. We’re greeted by a tall, lanky demon with short, white-blond hair and hazel eyes. They bounce between us before landing on me.

“If it isn’t the prince of hell, standing on my doorstep.” He doesn’t appear impressed. If anything, he seems inconvenienced by our presence.

I give him a once-over. He’s probably a few years older than me and dressed casually in jeans and a gray crewneck sweater. The fuzzy slippers are a bit of a surprise, though.

“I’m here too, Steven,” Blake points out.

The demon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I suppose you should come inside.” He shifts back, and I cast a sideways glance at Blake before stepping inside.

We follow the demon down a long, narrow hallway into a living space. It’s furnished with a black leather L-shaped couch, oak coffee table, and a TV mounted on the wall above a white marble fireplace. Crackling flames fill the space with warm, and soft jazz music plays from another room.

“Will, your company is here,” Steven calls out, crossing the room to a bar cart in the corner and pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. “Can I fix you gentlemen a drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Blake adds, raking a hand through his hair as the demon I presume is Will enters the room and grins at him.

Our host is a dark-skinned demon with a sharp jaw and moss-colored eyes. If I had to guess, he’s in his mid-thirties, and he’s dressed impeccably in black dress pants and a matching polo under a maroon dress jacket.

“BlakefuckingTaylor. How the hell are you?” His voice is deep but friendly, and the two hug, slapping each other on the back before breaking apart.

“Keeping busy, mate,” Blake says, then turns to me. “Will, meet Xander. Xander, Will.”

Will steps closer to me, holding out his hand in greeting. “Good to meet you, Xander.”

I nod, shaking his hand. “Likewise. Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Given an excuse to take part in the downfall of your mother’s savage reign, the pleasure is ours,” Steven chimes in, drumming his fingers against his thigh.

My brows lift, and I say, “Right.”

The four of us move to sit around the coffee table, and Blake doesn’t waste any time with small talk.

“We need to keep this absolutely silent until the exact moment we want people to know.”

“How big is your network?” I ask.

Will exchanges a glance with Steven before shifting his gaze to me. “It’s big enough,” he assures me, “and it spans the entirety of North America. If you need to get a message out, we’re the ones to do it.”

“I have to ask,” Steven says, glancing toward Will before returning his attention to me. “What’s the plan if things go sideways?”

Blake laughs, but it’s void of any humor. “Run.”

I shoot him a look before saying, “My mother is already concerned about demons acting against her, so an attack of any kind won’t come as a surprise. Of course, that makes our plan more dangerous and every detail critical, but it also means her suspect pool wouldn’t be a small one.”

Steven nods. “So long as you’re not asking us to fight.”

Will reaches for him, as if on instinct, and laces their fingers together, while keeping his gaze on me. “We’re happy to provide assistance with communication, but that’s the extent of our participation.”

“Understood,” I say, looking between them. “Thank you both.”

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