Page 1 of The Devil's Trials

ONEXANDER

Pain lights up my body like a billboard in Times Square.

I can’t hear anything over the blood rushing through my ears as fire fills my veins. The sensation is so intense, soreal, that I expect to find my skin blistering and melting off my bones. But it isn’t. Despite the stench being so harsh it singes the hair in my nostrils, my skin is blemish free.

Sharp pain ignites between my ribs, something akin to heartburn—only a hundred degrees worse. It somehow has the power to slow time and go on forever.

After an eternity, the sounds of Lucia’s throne room filter back in and the pain in my chest lessens, morphing into a pang of emptiness instead of the agony that moments ago threatened to bring me to my knees—like the demons before me are now. Their heads are bowed in respect or fear. I can’t quite decipher which, as my heart pounds and a chill fills the air despite the ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling.

The demons are bowing to me. Their new ruler—their king.

My gaze sweeps the room, the deep red walls and black curtains, the marble floor now stained crimson and black, littered with demon ashes.

And then my eyes meet hers.

Camille doesn’t move.

Her eyes are dark, like freshly watered soil, and filled with confusion. Fear ripples off her in dark, smoky tendrils, her chest rising and falling shallowly, as if she’s struggling to keep her composure.

In an instant, Noah appears behind Camille and snakes an arm around her waist, hauling her toward the doors. Away from me. It ignites a fiery rage that has me visualizing how easy it would be to shred the hunter to ribbons. But I don’t move.

Camille’s gaze holds me in place like an anchor even as she’s pulled further away.

She doesn’t fight Noah’s grip or make a sound as her eyes stay locked on me until she disappears into the hallway, along with Harper and the hunters, whose names don’t matter.

I take a step forward, and my foot slides through the pile of black ash in front of me. What’s left of the queen.My mother. Perhaps I should feel something over that, but even as I search for an emotion, nothing comes.

Blake rises from where he’d bowed with the other demons, coming to my side and clapping me on the shoulder. “You trust me?”

When there’s no one left to trust, not even myself, I still trust Blake. My protector and confidant.

I incline my head just enough to answer.

“Good. Let’s go.”

We’re moving a beat later, Blake shoving me toward the front of the room to avoid the crowd of demons slowly getting to their feet. We slip through the heavy black curtains and walk down a short hallway leading to the kitchen.

“Blake—”

“Not yet,” he cuts me off sharply. The focus in his nearly black gaze has the question of what we’re doing dying on my lips. I let him lead me through the building, our shoes pounding the marble floor as we move at a dizzying speed that isn’t doing any favors to the thoughts racing around my head.

The cool mid-October air hits me in the face when Blake opens a door, and I realize we made it to the back entrance. The breeze is a small reprieve from the sheen of sweat covering my skin, but I don’t have more than a moment to appreciate it before we’re getting into my Camaro. It goes without saying that I’m not in the headspace to operate a vehicle as Blake slides behind the wheel and I drop into the passenger seat, grimacing at the flare of pain that charges through my limbs, cutting through the fog in my head.

Blake’s emerald eyes slide to me as he starts the car, and the concern in them is unmistakable.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he shoves the gearshift into drive and presses hard on the gas.

“Somewhere safe,” he mutters, keeping his gaze focused on the winding stone drive, putting distance between us and Lucia’s compound. His face is pale, his jaw sharp as he grinds his molars.

“Blake—”

He curses. “I don’t think you fully understand the magnitude of what just happened, mate.”

“I do,” I say automatically, tipping my head back against the seat as I struggle to fill my lungs. The weight on my chest keeps me from breathing without significant effort, which only proves to worsen the spinning sensation behind my eyes. I squeeze them shut, gritting my teeth against this feeling of not having control over myself. It slips through my fingers like water, and I grip the seat on either side of me until my knuckles turn white.

A muscle feathers along his jaw when I look at him again. “Please warn me if you’re going to vomit so I can attempt to pull over.” Blake’s voice sounds far away, as if he’s speaking to me from the bottom of a well.

I press my fists against my eyes and force out, “I’m fine.”

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