Page 45 of The Devil's Trials

By the time we reach downtown, it’s pouring rain. The sky fills with lightning every few minutes, a clap of thunder following close behind.

As we circle the block several times, I consider telling Blake to drive home. I’m not really in the mood to party in a loud room full of mostly strangers. Though I suppose this is the type of thing I need to get used to. As king, someone will always want a piece of me. I add that to the list of negative consequences from my choice to kill Lucia and force myself to accept whatever tonight will be.

Blake finds an open spot on the street and parallel parks before cutting the engine. “The others are already at the bar.”

My gaze cuts to him, ready to remind him of our intention to keep a low profile. I trust he’s scoped the place out, which is why I haven’t flat out refused. Yet. “Who did you invite to this thing?”

He laughs. “Your council. They want to celebrate with their king.”

I’m not sure what pushes me to point out, “I’m no one’s king yet.”

“Semantics,” he says with a flick of his wrist. “Let’s go have a drink—or five—and if not celebrate, then at least forget the reason behind all of your broody vibes.”

“I’m not—”

His brows lift before I can get the sentence out.

“Fine,” I grumble.

He grins. “Excellent. I also have a team of trusted acquaintances to watch our backs so you don’t need to be concerned about a hunter ambush or any other trouble. You can let go and have a good time. Get blindingly drunk without worrying about finding yourself on the sharp end of an obsidian dagger.”

I chuckle at that.

We hurry through the rain and into the building vibrating with bass-heavy music.

Blake and I immediately walk to the bar and order, the twenty-something bartender pouring me a scotch and sliding it across the counter with a polite smile.

I return it, thanking her before turning away to survey the crowd in the dark.

Demons and humans alike dance with reckless abandon, filling the space with a heady mix of desire and arousal, mixed with alcohol, perfume, and sweat. It’s fucking tempting to let myself get lost in it, and I could—so damn easily.

Jude and Greer are dancing together near the edge of the dance floor, their cheeks flushed with warmth and beer in each of their hands. Spotting me, they lift their bottles in cheers.

I return the gesture, taking another drink of the smooth liquor.

Declan and Roman have found a quiet corner booth, where they sit and sip from whiskey glasses while making conversation.

Before I can start toward them to join, Francesca saunters up to the bar, ordering herself a vodka soda and clinking her glass against mine. She’s wearing a skintight black dress that stops just above her knees and sleek black boots with a heel that puts her almost at eye level with me.

“To the new king of hell,” she murmurs before taking a sip.

I chuckle, meeting her glimmering gaze over the rim of my glass as I take a drink. I don’t bother correcting her—she knows I still have to pass the other trials. “Right.”

“Dance with me?” she purrs in my ear.

My brows lift before my gaze flicks to the dance floor, then back to Francesca, her emerald eyes filled with anticipation and sparkling with gold shadow. “I’d rather not.”

She frowns. “We’re supposed to be celebrating. You should have fun. Youdoremember what that is, don’t you?”

I narrow my eyes, setting my drink aside and pulling her in swiftly. Her floral perfume assaults my senses, and my lips graze her ear, an air of warning in my tone as I murmur, “What game are you playing?”

Her responding laugh is lyrical. “One you’ll enjoy immensely if you let yourself, I promise.”

I find myself clinging to that promise. I don’t give a fuck about fun. What I need more than anything is a damn escape. So I let her pull me toward the cluster of warm, writhing bodies. I lose myself in the music, not flinching when Francesca wraps her arms around my neck. I drop my hands to her waist as she grins at me, and suddenly we’re fifteen again. Finding comfort in each other when everything else was literally hell.

I lose her attention for a moment as her grin widens and her expression darkens with something I know all too well—hunger.

Before I can speak, she slips out of my grasp and dances away. I turn, my gaze following her through the dark crowd until she finds her prey. It’s a lanky guy who can’t be much older than me, and the second Francesca gets her claws in him, he’s a goner. She leans up, speaking into his ear, and his face pales, his eyes going wide and near-vacant with fear.

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