Page 103 of The Devil's Trials

I stare at her.

You’re in love with the devil.

Harper is right. I do love Xander. Soulmate bond or no, at some point I moved past catching feelings for Xander to falling irrevocably in love with him.

Allowing myself to admit it only complicates things further. I love Noah, too. I had feelings for him before I met Xander, which makes me feel worse.

I’m worried I’m making a huge mistake with Noah.

I’m scared Xander is going to break my heart.

Worst of all, I’m terrified that whatever we feel won’t be enough to save us from destroying each other.

TWENTY-FIVEXANDER

I’ve never attended a Thanksgiving dinner, let alone prepared one for a group, so I’m not entirely sure what led me to think doing so for my council was a good idea. Blake jumped on board the moment I mentioned it and had invites sent out before I could change my mind.

“We should meet with them anyway, so why not do it over a feast?” he’d said, and I couldn’t argue with him.

As I stand at the sink, rinsing and peeling a ridiculous amount of potatoes, I severely wish I had.

Blake walks into the kitchen wearing a bright red apron with the phrase kiss the chef printed above the outline of lips. “How’s it coming?” he asks, setting down the grocery bags he carried in. “Having fun yet?”

I shoot him a bland look, and he grins before starting to unpack the rest of the things we needed for dinner. “The turkey has been in the oven for a little over an hour,” I tell him, pulling a knife from the block on the counter behind me before turning back to the island to chop the potatoes.

“Excellent,” he beams. “Fran’s grabbing the pie on her way over after she picks up Declan.”

I nod, finding it somewhat strange that Declan would be coming with Francesca instead of his partner. “What about the others?”

He pulls out a bag of carrots and a large head of broccoli. “Roman and Jude are coming together of course, and Greer is visiting a friend in Tacoma, so she’ll head here on her own after.”

“Sounds good.”

And hopefully everyone will be gone before nine.

That hope goes out the window an hour after Roman and Jude get here and Francesca and Declan haven’t arrived. Greer shows up shortly after them. The food is ready, and the table is set. The others are half an hour late. Then an hour. Blake calls Francesca several times, and it keepsgoing straight to voicemail. Same with Declan’s phone. Greer paces the living room, texting and calling, trying to get ahold of him.

“I’m going out to find them,” I announce, shrugging on my jacket. I was hoping to avoid tracking them using the blood connection we made. It’ll take a toll on my energy, which isn’t ideal ahead of the next trial—especially not knowing when it’ll be—but I’m left with no other option.

Just as I straighten from lacing up my combat boots, there’s a loud crash in the hallway. The others rush forward as I open the door, and my gut sinks as a bloodied and bruised Francesca collapses. I catch her before she hits the floor, and she groans in pain as I scoop her into my arms and carry her inside. Her head falls against my chest, damp with water from the rain outside and tinged black with blood.

“She’s barely alive,” Jude says in a grave tone.

Blake curses, and I’ve never heard his voice so livid. He’s vibrating with rage, his eyes flickering black as he keeps them locked on Francesca.

I lay her on the couch as gently as I can. Dark makeup is streaked down her pale, tear stained cheeks, which is the least of my concerns when her lip is split and bleeding down her chin and one of her eyes is nearly swollen shut. Her knee-length dress is shredded across her waist, her sheer tights ripped almost entirely off her legs, which are spattered with bruises like the ones on her arms.

Roman disappears and comes back with a warm, damp towel. Jude takes it from him and sits on the edge of the couch, leaning over to clean up Francesca’s face. She continues making sounds of discomfort, and her heart beats faster, her non-injured eye filling with tears when Blake asks her what happened. She shakes her head, whimpering, and I exchange a look with Blake, who looks ready to slaughter whoever did this.

“Tell us what happened,” Jude says.

Francesca shudders, tears rolling down her cheeks as her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Jude stops cleaning her face and holds her still by her arms. “Easy, darling. Take a breath.”

She sniffles, then inhales and exhales slowly a few times as the rest of us wait for her to speak. “We—” Her voice breaks, and she tries to clear her throat, wincing as if it hurts. “We went to the market to get the pies and when we were walking back to the car…They came out of nowhere.” Her chin quivers, and she stops talking, shaking her head again.

“Hunters?” I ask, a muscle ticking in my jaw and my temples throbbing from the tension.

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