Page 104 of The Devil's Trials

Francesca sucks in a breath. “N-no.”

My brows tug closer as the pit in my stomach grows. “Then who?”

Her attention lands on me as she licks her lips. She swallows hard before she’s able to force out, “My father.”

Fire bursts in my gut, and I bite back a growl.

Marrick is a dead man.

“Francesca,” Greer speaks up in a small voice, keeping herself pressed against the wall. “Where is Declan?”

She doesn’t look at Greer, but it’s written all over her face.

He’s dead.

“No,” Greer snaps frantically, moving toward the couch as she demands, “Where is he?”

Roman catches her around the waist, holding her back, and she completely loses it. It takes both Roman and Jude to haul Greer out of the room, and she continues screaming from the bedroom upstairs after the door slams shut.

Blake helps Francesca upright on the couch, then sits next to her. “Talk to us, Fran. Marrick did this to you?”

She exhales an unsteady breath. “His cronies. My father has never done his own dirty work.” Reaching up with a shaky hand, she touches her lip and sucks in a pained breath. “He watched as they beat me and called me a traitor for aligning myself with you.” She sniffles, and the utter brokenness in her features gnaws at me. This is my fault.

“He won’t get away with what he did to you,” I vow to her, perching on the coffee table in front of the couch to face her and Blake. “Or what he did to Declan.” Greer’s screaming upstairs has quieted. I’m not sure how Jude and Roman settled her down, or perhaps she cried herself dry.

Francesca’s voice is so uncharacteristically small when she says, “He was going to let them kill me, Xander. But he…he needed someone alive to send you a message.”

“What message?” I snarl, though the anger isn’t directed at her.

“He wants the throne and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t take it.” She winces at the movement as she reaches for me, grabbing my hands where they’re clenched in my lap. “Everyone you care about is a target.”

My back straightens, my whole body going taut. I can’t help immediately thinking about Camille and Harper in New York.

I glance toward Blake, a silent message passing between us, and he nods in understanding.

“I, um…” Francesca starts, then trails off, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“What is it?” I ask, focusing back on her.

“It’s going to sound insane.” She inhales slowly, lifting her head and looking at me. “Years ago, when we were still in hell, I overheard a conversation between Marrick and Lucia. They were discussing the future of our kind following the eradication of the hunters.”

“They had a plan?” Blake asks.

Francesca shakes her head. “Not quite. What I heard…It didn’t make a lick of sense, but my father was adamant, convinced this was the answer to any threats they would face.”

“Just tell us what you heard,” Blake says, shoulders tense.

There’s a moment of hesitation before she continues. “My father seemed to think he could gather an army of demons that were loyal to him by default.”

Blake makes a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “How exactly could he guarantee that?”

Francesca’s brows knit, and she exhales an uneven breath. “By transforming humans into demons to form an army.”

My stomach drops as dread floods into my chest, seizing my lungs in an ironclad grip.

“Makedemons?” Blake echoes. “Is that what you just said?”

“I’ve never heard of it happening,” I say, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in my core. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I don’t think we can rule it out at this point.”

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