Page 59 of The Devil's Trials

Even now, there’s some innate anchor that stops me from walking out of her apartment and getting on a plane to Seattle. Luckily, Blake has connections at a local private airport, which made getting here discreetly possible. Public transport isn’t ideal with a government agency actively hunting me.

My attention drifts around the room, taking in the space that Camille hasn’t done much to personalize. She’s only been here a couple of weeks, and I’m sure has spent most of that time training before falling ill. So the basic bed, dresser, nightstand setup makes sense, and the chair near the end of the bed appears to have been brought in from the dining space in the other room. The thought of Noah sitting there, being with Camille, makes my molars grind.

Because he’s better for her than you are, Lucia’s voice croons at the back of my head, driving the torment deeper into my bones.

I recoil from it, rolling my shoulders to force the tension out, and check my phone for any messages from Blake. When I don’t find any, I send him a quick update, and stand from the bed, walking out to the kitchen to see what I can find to make for Camille. Something tells me she hasn’t eaten much these last few days.

After scouring her kitchen, I make a plate with avocado toast, bacon, and strawberries, pairing that with a glass of orange juice and a cup of lemon tea. I look up at the sound of her phone chiming and find it on the coffee table in the living room.

My eyes narrow at the message from Noah.

I’m about to leave Ballard. Need me to grab anything on the way and stop by?

I type out a response and hit send without thinking about it. I’m not about to have this prick interrupt my visit and attempt to throw me out. As much as I loathe the arrogant hunter, killing him would hurt Camille. It’s the only thing refraining me from doing so.

Feeling much better. No need to stop by. I have everything I need.

I switch her phone to silent and leave it in the kitchen.

Carrying breakfast to Camille’s room, I set everything on her nightstand, turning and brushing my fingers along her cheek.

“You need to eat something,” I murmur, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her skin is still warm, but I think she’s kicked the fever.

She stirs, making a soft noise that twists my heart. The urge to crawl into the bed and pull Camille into my arms makes me oddly lightheaded, and I frown at the sensation, trying to will it away. It feels dangerously weak, as if I’ve lost control of myself in her presence. I don’t want to think about what that could mean, though there’s a pit of dread in my gut that tells me I already know. When I had a soul, Camille brought out the human part of me. Now that I’m a pure demon…she makes me weak.

That should be cause for concern. Itshoulddrive me to put distance between us, because the last thing I need in the wake of my trials is weakness. And yet, I can’t bring myself to leave her. Not in this condition, not right after learning the truth about our connection.

I’m a monster but I don’twantto be when it comes to her.

If that’s the only piece of my humanity that remains, I’m going to cling to it for as long as I can, and hope to hell it doesn’t sabotage my ascension. And the voice inside my head that says I can’t have both—Camille and the throne—is one I want to prove wrong.

That desire doesn’t eliminate the truth of her being a target of very dangerous and powerful demons. Even without a soul, I still love her, ruined soulmate bond be damned. And for something we didn’t know existed until it was broken, I refuse to give it so much power over me—overus.

Camille blinks her eyes open, and when they connect with mine, the pace of her heart kicks up.

“You’re here,” she says, her voice hoarse and low, sleep clinging to it. “I thought it might’ve been a dream.”

My lips curve upward. “I’m here.” I nod toward the food. “Eat.”

Her brows tug closer. “Bossy.”

I exhale a short laugh. “I’m trying to take care of you.”

“Are you going to feed it to me too?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

So easily we’ve fallen into amusing banter, and I delight in the way her pulse quickens as she reads into the question.

She glances over at the plate of food, smiling faintly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I sit on the side of her bed as she shifts upright and scoots toward the headboard, crossing her legs.

“Did you eat?” she asks, reaching for a strawberry.

I shake my head. “I’m not worried about me.”

She frowns. “Do you want—”

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