Page 95 of The Devil's Trials

Blake nods.

“Let’s go,” I say without hesitation.

“Yes, my king.” He shoots me a wink, and I respond with an icy glare, making him grin as we leave the apartment.

Blake drives to the industrial part of the city, humming along to the music he’s playing. “There’s an old warehouse out here that a bunch of demons turned into a nightclub of sorts years ago. So far, the hunters haven’t been alerted to it. Fran and the others are already there, along with the royal guard, waiting for your arrival.”

“What the fuck is the guard doing there?” I glance out the window, stretching my legs out in front of me.

His expression is grave as he turns the music down. “This is your second trial, mate.”

A low growl rumbles through my chest. “Since when do they insist on watching?” And would I have failed whatever this trial is if I hadn’t decided to go after this demon?

He taps his thumbs against the steering wheel, keeping his eyes on the road. “Since now.” His gaze slides toward me briefly, and he says, “With Marrick rousing doubt about you among the demons who will listen to his shit, they want to oversee the rest of the trials.”

“Great.” I deadpan as discomfort tugs at my gut. Nothing like an audience of judges to kick up the pressure. My brows draw closer, and I turn to look out the window. Now that we’re in the second half of November, the days and nights are colder, though at least the rain from earlier today has stopped. The sky is clear, the complete opposite of how my thoughts feel as I go over what I’ll have to do tonight.

Blake turns off the main road, and the storefronts transition into warehouses. We pull onto a laneway at the end of the road and drive for several minutes until we arrive at the building. The parking lot is dark but filled with vehicles, and the warehouse is vibrating with the music playing inside.

We get out of the car and start toward the front entrance, where two thick muscled demons stand on either side, bowing their heads the moment they recognize me. They open the double doors, beckoning us inside. The music is immediately louder, paired with the scent of booze and people as Blake and I walk through the dimly lit entrance toward the crowd. We move into the massive, wide-open space filled with dancing bodies and a stage at the front, where a DJ performs. Colored strobe lights flash through the otherwise dark room, and smoke machines near the stage give the room a haze that some appear to think is an invisibility cloak with how openly they’re groping each other.

Shaking my head, I square my shoulders, schooling my features into something cool and indifferent. Despite the increased beat of my heart, I slow my breathing and tap into the confident, twisted part of me that relishes the spark of excitement in my chest at the thought of doling out punishment in front of an audience. Of showing them what will happen should they attempt to act against my reign.

My eyes land on Greer and Jude, who have climbed onto the stage and are speaking to the DJ. A moment later, the music cuts off, and the crowd boos, hollering at him to turn it back on.

“Apologies for the interruption,” he says in a thick Australian accent. “It seems we have a very special guest in the house tonight who requires your attention for a moment.”

People start searching the dark room while the lights continue flashing, and several offer short gasps when their eyes land on me.

While I haven’t spotted the royal guard, I know they’re here. I can feel the utter weight of their presence, sight unseen.

I move to the front of the room as the crowd parts and stand with my arms crossed and the weight of countless gazes on me. I inhale a slow breath while the demon I’m here for is dragged forward by Francesca and Jude. He appears middle-aged, with short black hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and a permanent scowl twisting his lips. His navy dress shirt is wrinkled, and his black jeans are ripped, though I can’t tell if they aremeant to look that way, or if he got into a scuffle with my council. It doesn’t matter much.

I meet his hate-filled gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Fuck you,” he seethes, a mixture of anger and fear surrounding him in a plume of darkness.

“How unfortunate,” I say flatly, and a few of the demons snicker. Blake’s eyes glimmer with amusement from where he stands off to the side, though he doesn’t speak. “Do you know why I’m here?” I ask.

He lifts his chin, evidently deciding not to answer.

“Very well.” I inhale slowly, nodding at Francesca and Jude, who force him to his knees. “I am giving you one and only one chance to provide a reason for your actions. Why is it you believe you can act without consequences while putting our kind at risk of exposure?”

“I don’t have to explain myself toyou,” the demon snarls, disgust dripping from each pointed word.

Francesca snarls, grabbing the accused by the back of his head and fisting his hair. “That is to be your king. You will address him as such—with respect.”

“He is notmyking.”

I level my gaze with his. “I don’t care how you feel about me. You’ve been colluding with the hunters and putting your own kind at risk.”

The demon cackles. “If our queen still sat on the throne, she would have stopped me before I had the chance.” He attempts to turn and face the crowd, but Francesca and Jude hold strong. The bastard continues his tirade with, “This pathetic excuse for a demon is not fit to rule our kind! Do not continue this blindness to his shortcomings! He will destroy—”

I move forward in a blur, grabbing the demon’s chin and forcing his gaze to mine. I know what needs to be done, whatIhave to do. Perhaps that’s why my heart is beating violently and sweat beads above my upper lip. Because even as I stare into his eyes, all I can think about is Camille. What she would think and feel and say if she saw me like this. I’m being the monster she hates, not the man she cares for, and I despise that more than the actions of the demon in front of me.

Glancing up, I catch Blake’s gaze. His brows are pinched together as he watches, shaking his head subtly at my hesitation. He glances between me and the demon, the look in his eyes urging me to act.You’refucking this up, he says without speaking, his posture tense and a muscle feathering along his jaw.

The whole exchange takes a mere few seconds, but the pressure in my chest grows tenfold. I can barely breathe, and my grip on the demon before me falters as my fingers cramp.

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