Page 90 of The Devil's Waltz
“Jealous is an interesting color on you, mate.”
I ignore him, watching with my jaw clenched painfully tight as Camille breaks off a piece of a scone before pushing the rest toward Noah. My stomach twists as he smiles at her, tension coiling throughout my whole body.
Blake punches me in the shoulder.
I hiss out a growl in his direction.
“Focus,” he says in a low voice.
“I’m fine,” I shoot back, tearing my gaze away from Camille and Noah as we get back into the car. “Who’s next on our list?”
TWENTY-SIXCAMILLE
My dad drives me to the airport a few days later. After the demon attack in Brooklyn, I was relieved his second-in-command insisted he take a couple of days off. I was expecting him to be wrapped up in work so completely I wouldn’t see him for the remainder of my trip. So, it was a happy surprise getting to spend time with him.
We had lunch at my favorite spot in Manhattan yesterday before wandering around the city. Then we window shopped and chatted about post-graduation plans over cups of hot chocolate in Central Park.
Dad cooked my favorite meal last night, and we watched the old sitcom that was constantly on when I was younger. It felt mundane and wonderful, a breath of fresh air in the midst of the storm I’ve been trudging through for nearly a month. Ever since discovering I was in a relationship—however fake it was—with the prince of hell.
When we finally called it a night, I slept terribly, knowing I’d be flying back to Seattle today. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable enough for any restful sleep. Maybe it’s anxiety about traveling. But it’s more likely about knowing Lucia is waiting for me back home.
Standing outside the departure doors, Dad wraps his arms around me so tight I struggle to get a breath in. But I don’t complain—I need this as much as he does.
“Take care of yourself, kiddo,” he says in a thick voice, then finally pulls away.
“I will,” I promise him. “You too, Dad.”
He nods. “I better hear from you at least once a week.”
I can’t help but smile at him. “You got it.”
“I want you to know how proud I am of you.” His voice is steady even as his bottom lip wobbles and his gaze takes on a glassy sheen. “You’rechasing your dreams with a determination that demands admiration. And you’ve faced adversity with such grace and strength. I am the luckiest man on earth, being able to call you my daughter.”
My eyes burn with a sudden onslaught of tears, and I can barely force out, “Thank you, Dad.”
“And I’m going to talk to your mom about laying off the training talk. She needs to accept you’ve chosen a different path for your life. She’ll just have to be okay with that.”
An announcement over the loudspeaker interrupts before I can respond. The lump in my throat would have made it too difficult, anyway. My chest feels like it’s seconds away from exploding from an overwhelming mix of relief and shock.
“You better get in there,” he says, and I nod. He hugs me one more time, planting a kiss on the top of my head before handing over my duffel bag.
I sling it over my shoulder and toss him another smile as I walk to the door. “I’ll let you know when I get home. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Camille. More than you will ever know.”
I turn away at that point, my vision blurring with tears I try to fight back, but as soon as I’m through the doors, I let them fall.
After so many years of begging my parents to understand my inability to rejoin the hunters, I’ve finally made a small amount of progress. With one of them, at least. That’s more than I ever thought I’d get, and I’m not about to take it for granted.
I move through the airport until I reach my gate, and soon enough, it’s time to board. I’m not sure what lies ahead when I return to Seattle, but there’s a renewed strength burning in my veins to face whatever it might be.
I haven’t heard from Xander since he dropped me off at my dad’s place, and I haven’t stopped thinking about the kiss we shared. It felt different, as if it meant more somehow, and that terrifies me.
He and Blake stayed in New York a bit longer in the hopes of reaching some contacts who might help us.
The day after I get home is the memorial service for Phoebe and Grayson. I wake up before my alarm, having tossed and turned nearly all night, and stare at the ceiling, bleary-eyed and physically and emotionally exhausted.
Shortly after nine, there’s a soft knock on my door, and I roll over as it opens, and my mom pokes her head inside.
