Page 7 of The Devil's Trials

So much for professionalism.

Noah chuckles, and I jump when the sound is much closer than I expect it to be. He grips the back of my chair, leaning down until his lips are next to my ear. “I’m the best this organization has, Cam. You’d be lucky to have me train you.” There’s a film of annoyance clinging to his tone, even as he uses the nickname no one else does. “If it makes you feel better, I get the feeling this assignment is a punishment formeand not you.”

Mom sighs. “You’re lucky unpaid mentor hours are all we’re giving you, Noah. You could very well be tossed out of the organization for participating in that mission.”

Would they really do that? I can’t picture Noah doing anything outside of demon hunting, and the organization doesn’t seem to be in a place where they can lose anyone. His response leads me to think he doesn’t see it as an empty threat, though.

His jaw works, and he nods tightly. “I understand.”

Fuck. He did just help me and defy the hunters’ rules in doing so, and I’m basically throwing it back in his face by requesting another trainer.

Whatever. He’s still a jerk.

Mom’s sharp attention returns to me. “I don’t need to remind you of Noah’s experience.”

Please don’t.

I bite my tongue. Her tone is warning enough. There is no room for argument. I want to so badly, but the longer I’m here, the closer I get to bursting into tears. So I resign myself to sit in silent acceptance of this hand I’ve been dealt. I don’t have the strength to fight. Not now. Not with the pit in my stomach and the indescribable emptiness in my chest. It’s akin to grief, though sharper somehow.

As the seconds tick by on the wall clock across the room, my pulse speeds up and my palms dampen. The hair on the back of my neck tingles, and that awful, familiar sense of dread pours in. My thoughts are short-circuiting, and I swallow against the dryness in my throat.

I’m shooting to my feet before I fully realize it, the room swaying around me.

“Camille—” Concern laces Mom’s tone at my abrupt movement.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” I say, desperation creeping into my voice as the walls feel as if they’re moving suffocatingly close. I just need this meeting to be done. I need to get out of here.

I don’t look at Noah as I flee the room. Don’t stop moving until I’m standing outside headquarters, pulling in slow, deep breaths of cool air until my pulse returns to a relatively normal pace. Anxiety still coils tight in my chest, and when I catch sight of Noah coming toward me, I have half a mind to make a break for it in the opposite direction. He’s the last person I want to witness me having a panic attack. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk about the mess of things going through my head. I just agreed to return to the life I was desperate to leave behind.

No, Iaskedfor it.

Memories of hours spent studying the history of hunters and demons, the stark, constant fear of losing everyone I love to the monsters I was learning to stalk and kill…And now I’m right back there. It makes my skin crawl, sending a shiver down my spine at the same time.

I step back when Noah gets close, and he sighs.

“Just wait, Cam.”

“For what?” I snap. “Are you going to recite your mile-long list of reasons you’re the best hunter in the organization? Or boast about why I should be absolutely star-struck by the prospect of learning from you? Hard fucking pass.”

His gaze holds mine, and his voice is devastatingly gentle when he says, “You’re allowed to be scared.”

My stomach drops. I shake my head. I resent the burning in my eyes.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

Not in front ofhim.

I stay silent. I won’t give him the opportunity to call out my lie of denying the razor-sharp fear building a home inside me. Instead, I spin on my heel and hurry away from him, refusing to look back. My heart is pounding in my throat as blood rushes through my ears, and feeling so utterly unstable is making it very difficult not to burst into tears in the middle of the sidewalk.

Once I’m far enough away to know Noah isn’t following me, I stop to catch my breath and pull my phone out to text Harper.

Sorry I left without you. I couldn’t be there a second longer. I’ll meet you at home.

I slip my phone away and press a hand to my chest, closing my eyes as I try to center my breathing. My head is still spinning with a million questions I’m almost certain I’m not prepared to get answers for. Of course, most of them are about Xander.

Was his intention all along to execute his mother and take her throne?

He hated her for the pain she put him through, but the idea that he would be capable of not only killing his own mother but having the foresight to plan it has nausea rolling through me in vicious waves once more.

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