Page 11

E LEVEN X ANDER

Seeing Camille in the dreamscape last night was a stark reminder of what I lost to save her, and I wasn’t expecting the sense of grief and longing that came from being in her presence. They’re dark, sticky emotions I thought I left behind when I embraced my demon side completely. As it turns out, that doesn’t seem to be the case—at least where Camille is concerned.

And while I crave her fierce determination to resist me, I also take pleasure in witnessing her struggle against her own feelings. Because she is mine, and deep down she knows it as well as I do.

I’d rather spend another night in a dreamscape with her, but there isn’t a chance in hell Blake will let me out of this party to celebrate completing the first ascension trial.

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. You do remember 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.

A quick glance around the room tells me most of the demons are feeding. The music is so loud the humans’ screams are drowned out, which makes it the perfect feeding den.

I watch for several beats, finding I have no desire to step in and help the humans. In fact, the pull to feed my own hunger is inescapable. I wasn’t aware of how much the first trial sucked away my energy until now. I suppose being surrounded by humans doesn’t help. It’d be like a human going grocery shopping on an empty stomach.

I move through the room in a blur, coming up beside Francesca. A growl tears from her lips before she realizes it’s me. Her eyes flicker between their normal color and endless black before staying dark. She grabs the front of my shirt, tugging me closer, and I reach out with my senses to feel the white-hot fear pouring off this guy.

His mouth has fallen open in a silent scream and his eyes are bloodshot as tears spill from them, soaking his blanched cheeks. His fear transforms into energy as it sinks into my skin, and I close my eyes, relishing in the way it takes over my entire body, washing away every worry and care lingering in my chest.

I only pull away when Francesca laughs, opening my eyes in time to watch the human sink to the floor, the front of his pants soaked with piss.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” I mutter with a sigh, stepping over his unconscious body, then offer my hand to Francesca to do the same.

She slides her fingers through mine without looking back at our discarded prey as we return to the bar. She motions for the bartender, who comes over immediately, and asks for a bottle of top-shelf tequila.

“Fran—”

“Fucking finally!” Blake interrupts, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “We’re doing shots, right?”

I glance between him and Francesca, then mutter, “It would appear so.”

Francesca grins, unscrewing the bottle cap and taking a long swig before passing the bottle my way. Without overthinking it, I take a shot, letting the liquor burn a path from my tongue to my stomach, warming it along the way.

Blake goes next, then smacks a loud kiss against Francesca’s cheek before shooting me a salute and sauntering back into the crowd.

“He’s so weird,” Francesca says with a laugh, swallowing another mouthful of tequila before the bottle ends up in my hand again.

I shrug, taking another long drink as my head swims pleasantly. “At least it’s mildly entertaining.”

“True,” she offers, tossing back her third shot.

Several shots later, we’re on the dance floor again. I’ve fully lost myself in the music and alcohol, and while the escape is devastatingly fleeting, I cling to every damn second of it. It’s a weak attempt at numbing the chasm in my chest that, despite feeding and drinking half a bottle of tequila, hasn’t lessened as I hoped it would.

Francesca leans into me, sliding her hands up my chest and leaning on her tiptoes. I dip my face so she can speak in my ear, loosely hanging onto her waist. “Where are you?” she asks.

I lean back to look at her, shaking my head. “I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not.”

I cock my head to the side. “What—”

She huffs out a sigh and grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd. I let her for the sole reason of not wanting to be surrounded by all these fucking people any longer.

We walk down a hallway, past the washrooms, and into a private lounge at the back of the bar. There Francesca slams the door shut and crosses her arms over her chest as she stares me down.

“Why do I feel as if I’m about to be scolded?” My tone is heavy with amusement as I scan the room.

It’s small but furnished with two maroon leather couches and a glass coffee table, along with a matching, fully stocked bar cart off to the side.

“Is it working?” she asks, not a hint of sarcasm or humor in her voice.

I shake my head, perching on the armrest of the couch closest to me. “Is what working, Francesca?”

“This distraction from whatever has you so twisted up.”

I chuckle. “Since when is partaking in shots and feeding a code for distraction?” I don’t move as she steps closer, but I lower my voice and add, “I’m simply following your lead.”

She drops her arms back to her sides. “You forget how long I’ve known you, Xander.”

I stand, shooting forward until I’m right in her face. “No, you seem to forget who you’re speaking to.”

Francesca blinks at me. Her cheeks are flushed, though that could be a combination of the drinks and my proximity, or perhaps frustration based on the pinch of her brows. Still, she doesn’t back down.

Not a chance,” she murmurs, her long, dark lashes shadowing her high cheekbones. “So if you want a real distraction from the trials or the oh-so tragic loss of your soul, I assure you I can provide one.”

The back of my neck prickles at her suggestion. While Francesca and I have, at times, been there for each other like that, it was a long time ago. She isn’t who I want now.

Perhaps she’s what you deserve , a feminine, hauntingly familiar voice croons at the back of my head. A monster, just like you .

I recoil from the thought, putting distance between us.

“Seriously?” She arches a brow at me.

Holding her gaze, I speak firmly. “Whatever happened between us stays in the past where it belongs.”

Francesca studies my face in the silence stretching between us. “You don’t want me?” Her doubt-filled tone raises my hackles, as if telling her nothing is going to happen between us now isn’t convincing enough.

“I don’t,” I say firmly, so as to not leave anything up to interpretation.

“You used to.” She prowls closer again. “Especially when I did that thing with my tongue on your—”

“Enough,” I cut her off, my tone sharp. “You wanted a spot on my council, and I gave you one. I thought we had an understanding of what that meant and what it didn’t. Do I need to clarify things for you?”

She scowls. “Of course not. I’m simply trying to be there for you. To help you keep your head clear of certain distractions so you’re at your strongest for the remaining trials. You don’t need to be an ass about it.”

I grind my molars at her insinuation, though I can’t refute it. “We should go back to the bar,” I finally say, walking out of the room without waiting for her.

I wave the bartender over and point to a bottle of scotch on the middle shelf behind her. When she hands it over, I turn away, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long swig. The burn is immediate, a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in my chest. As I tip the bottle to my lips again, the room fades into a blur of sounds and moving bodies. With a deep sigh and another burning shot, I close my eyes and resign myself to get lost in it.