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T WELVE C AMILLE

“I have a bone to pick with you,” I tell Noah the next morning when we meet at his car. I didn’t bring it up on the drive home from Ballard yesterday because I wanted to give myself a chance to cool down instead of snapping at him. I had hoped that sleeping on it would diffuse my anger at being blindsided by news of the hunter tests.

“Uh-oh,” he says with a grin, getting behind the wheel and setting his travel mug of coffee in the cup holder.

“I’m serious.” I buckle my seat belt as he starts the car. “When were you going to tell me about the tests? That seems like something my mentor should have brought up to me instead of finding out from someone in class.”

He sighs as we drive out of the parking garage. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I was waiting until you were ready—”

“There you go again with that shit,” I interrupt in a snippy tone. “You don’t get to—”

“Actually, I do.” He cuts me a look before returning his attention to the road. “I’m your mentor. I decide what you can and can’t handle, and when, based on what I see in class and our private lessons. I hate to break it to you, Cam, but you have a long way to go until you’re ready to be tested.”

I recoil as if he just smacked me across the face. My cheeks flame with embarrassment and my eyes burn. I stare out the windshield, willing myself not to cry, but all I want to do is curl into a ball and hide.

“When I think you’re ready, we’ll talk about it,” he adds.

I can’t bring myself to respond. I have no idea what I’d say, anyway. I can’t refute his words, and I hate that. So, I pull out my phone and send Harper a text.

Are you around today? I could use a chat and I miss you.

Her reply comes a minute later.

Heading to class now and training right after. Can I call you tonight? Unless this is an SOS, in which case, I’ll ditch my lecture.

I chew my lip, typing out a quick response.

All good. Noah and I are heading to Ballard now. Give me a shout when you’re home.

I pocket my phone and turn up the music, hoping to fill the silence without having to talk.

When we arrive at Ballard, Noah parks in his designated spot near the private training building, and we go inside. I guess he’s not teaching a class today, which means this session is going to be one-on-one. Awesome .

While I don’t love being surrounded by the other trainees, some who look at me as an enemy—or the girl who slept with the enemy—spending time alone with Noah right now gives me nearly as much anxiety.

I dive into my usual warm-up, finding it slightly easier than the first day after ensuring to stretch after my shower last night and when I woke up this morning. Once I’m finished, I meet Noah on the mats, propping my hands on my hips and asking, “What’s on the lesson plan today?”

“I want to work on defensive maneuvers. Let’s start with the basic ones we’ve already gone over as a refresher, then we’ll move into the more complex ones and the transitions into offensive moves.”

Noah attaches padded gloves to his hands and holds them up for me. I spend a few minutes hitting them as directed with closed fists. When my eyes drift upward, he’s already looking at my face.

“What?” I grumble.

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “Your face gets all scrunched up when you concentrate.”

I scowl. “Quit making fun of me.” I land a harder punch against his gloved palm.

“I’m not making fun. It’s cute. And I’m glad to see you’re getting stronger. You have a good amount of power in your punch.”

I should be focused on his compliment of my strength, but the stupid butterflies in my stomach flutter at him calling me cute.

You’re still pissed at him , I remind myself, my eyes narrowing when he throws off the gloves and starts circling me, moving at an easy pace.

“What are you doing now?”

“Focus,” he says in a level tone. “Don’t let me get behind you.”

With a sigh, I narrow my gaze and kick out, attempting to knock him off his feet, but he darts away easily.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he can sneak behind me. Even more so when he sweeps my legs out from under me and takes us both to the ground, pinning me beneath him. It knocks the air out of my lungs, stunning more than hurting me. He swiftly straddles me to trap my hips between his, gripping my wrists tightly with both of his hands and holding them above my head, effectively immobilizing me. My heart slams against my chest, my pulse erratic and my eyes darting between his. He licks his lips, and when his gaze drops to my mouth and stays there a moment too long, panic hits me like an ice-cold tsunami.

He’s going to kiss me .

And I could easily let him. Except…it isn’t fair to him. Not really. Not when there’s someone else who I want so completely that it makes me physically ache.

“You can’t kiss me.” The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush, and Noah freezes above me.

Silence stretches between us, the furrow in his brow making me frown. My heart still pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, but we’re frozen in this moment.

“Why not?”

I shake my head, wanting to look away from him as my eyes burn. “Because I still—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and open my mouth to try again.

“Because you still love him,” Noah offers.

When I don’t respond, Noah releases and rolls off me, standing and offering me his hand. I take it, and as soon as I’m upright, he lets me go. “Let’s take a break.”

“What? Why?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Why?” he echoes. “Because it’s clear your focus is in the wrong place. And I get it. That’s not me shitting on you. But I can’t be sure you’re in the right headspace for training to fight demons when you’re thinking about—”

“I’m not,” I cut in, and he gives me a doubtful look that slices deep into my chest. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just…You’re right. I’m not in the right headspace.” I don’t elaborate. Something tells me Noah won’t be too keen on hearing about my dream walking experience with Xander. Honestly, I’d rather not relive it at the moment, either. “I think I just need some air.”

He nods. “Take a walk outside. I have to check on something in the main building, anyway. Meet me back here in ten minutes.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before crossing the room and tapping his badge against a security panel beside the door. He pulls it open, and I get a quick look inside an empty hallway before the door slams shut.

I exhale a heavy breath and walk to the door to the parking lot, where I stand outside and take measured breaths until the pressure in my chest eases some. Leaning against the cold exterior of the building, I close my eyes, timing my slow inhale, then hold it for the same amount of time before letting it out.

“You can do this,” I tell myself, reaching for the door handle and walking back inside.

The rest of our lesson is tense, but I focus on Noah’s instructions. We go through the defensive routine he showed me at the start of our session at least a dozen times over the next hour, and while I feel I’m getting better at it, he gives no indication of my progress.

The drive home is painfully quiet, and Noah sends me a curt, “I’ll talk to you later,” when we get back to the apartment before we part ways.

I curse myself the entire walk from the elevator to my place, slamming the door behind me with a loud groan to the empty entryway, then make sure to lock the door before I trudge through my living room and into the bathroom to take a shower.

Standing under the hot spray of water, I scrub my scalp and skin until everything is tingling and smelling of my coconut body wash.

Why is this so fucking confusing?

Why did I have to meet Xander in the first place?

A wave of dizziness rushes over me, and I press my forehead to the cool shower tile, focusing on my breathing. Inhaling slowly, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling.

The more I consider it, the more I can’t stop myself from wondering…If Xander and I hadn’t met that night at Hallowed Grounds, would fate have brought us together another time?

Except, it wasn’t fate. Xander orchestrated that night to get close to me in service of his mother’s agenda. Though at some point it became more than that, which makes considering my life without Xander nausea-inducing to the point I reach to shut off the water and get out of the shower.

I’m getting changed when there’s a soft knock at my door. I consider ignoring it for fear that it’s Noah. But when the knock comes again, I tug on a hoodie and pad to the door, looking through the peephole to find my dad standing in the hallway sporting a casual navy polo shirt, jeans, and loafers.

Opening the door, I smile at him. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

He steps inside, wrapping me in a hug that pushes the nausea away almost completely, instead filling my senses with the woodsy scent of his aftershave. It’s the one he’s always used, and the smell brings me a semblance of comfort. “Just wanted to check in, kiddo.” He kisses the top of my head. “I like having you in the city. Being able to drop by and see you is nice. I wish I had a chance to come before now, but things have been a bit more chaotic at the office lately.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re here,” I say, doing my best to ignore the unspoken reason for his chaos at work. “I, uh, don’t have much in the way of groceries, but we could order something if you want to stay for lunch?”

“I’d love that.”

Half an hour later, we’re sitting at the small dining table eating takeout from the Thai place around the corner.

“How are you liking this place?” Dad asks, taking a sip of water as he glances around the apartment.

Luckily, it came furnished with the basics. As much as part of me wants to decorate and make the space feel more like mine, I don’t know how long I’m going to be living here. That, and I really haven’t had the motivation to put in any effort.

I push the noodles around my plate. “It’s nice, but I miss Harper.” I’ve never lived alone—I was with my mom until my first year at the University of Washington. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I’ve already decided I don’t enjoy being alone so much. It’s practically an open invitation for my anxiety to rear its ugly head.

“That’s understandable,” Dad says with a thoughtful smile. “I’m sure she misses you.”

I manage a small smile in return. “Have there been any developments…?” My voice trails off. I don’t think I can bring myself to say the words, but, thankfully, Dad understands what I’m asking.

He shakes his head. “Things are quiet, which isn’t a good or bad thing at this point. What is good is that the number of demon attacks has decreased since the queen was executed.”

Considering Lucia was responsible for many of them, it makes sense.

I nod, forcing myself to lift a forkful of noodles to my mouth. I chew slowly, reaching for my glass of water as Dad clears his throat.

“Do you want to talk about it? I know—” He pauses, as if he’s debating how to craft what he wants to continue. “You were involved with Xander before all of this happened.”

I stare at my plate. “I’m not sure what to say. The head of the hunter organization doesn’t need to hear about his daughter’s feelings for a demon.”

“Camille,” he says in a voice that makes me meet his gaze across the table. “I’m not asking in any official capacity. I’m asking as your father because I’m concerned about you.”

The tears that prick my eyes aren’t surprising, but I still try to blink them away before they can slip down my cheeks. Pressing my lips together against the words desperate to escape, a fiery pressure builds in my chest until I can’t hold them back a second longer. I suck in a sharp breath. “I’m not ready to give up on him, Dad, and that scares me. I’m terrified the person I fell in love with is gone. That he doesn’t care about me anymore.”

His brows knit as he sets his fork on his plate. “And if he doesn’t?”

“I can’t imagine anything hurting more than this, but I’m scared that it would.” I lean back in my chair, tearing small pieces off the napkin in my lap.

“You underestimate your own strength, kiddo. I’m not saying it would be easy, but I have no doubt you’d handle it with grace.”

“I don’t want to, though,” I admit quietly, unable to grasp a false bravado at this moment. “I don’t want any of this.”

He offers me a sympathetic smile. “I know.”

Dad heads out after lunch, and I tidy up from our meal. My thoughts spiral as I load the dishwasher and only get worse by the time I’m finished, causing me to gravitate to the bottle of tequila I bought the day I moved in.

A few hours later, I’m sitting in the dark living room squinting at my phone instead of adjusting the screen brightness—because that makes more sense. Obviously.

Curled up on the floor in front of my coffee table, I giggle to myself, then hiccup and cringe at the threat of my poor decisions making a reappearance all over the floor. Tequila sounded amazing when I was trying to forget everything that has me waking up with a heavier weight on my chest each day. But now as it sloshes around my stomach? Not so much.

I tip my head back against the couch cushion and scroll through my contacts. Instead of calling Harper like I should, I’m tapping the name I should’ve deleted as soon as I decided to come to New York.

He’s not going to answer.

I don’t even know why I’m trying to call him.

You miss him , a treacherous voice in my head croons. I shove it away with a groan as heat spreads through my limbs, drowning me in a pleasantly heavy warmth.

This is a bad idea. Way worse than drinking half a bottle of tequila by myself in the dark.

I need to hang up.

The line keeps ringing. Each chime sounds louder, to the point I wince at the next one.

I’m going to hang up as soon as I can convince my hand to move.

More ringing.

I’m about to pull the phone away from my ear when his voice slams into me with the weight of a thousand bricks.

“Camille,” is all he says, and it’s painfully sobering.

I stare at the ceiling as it swirls above me, then squeeze my eyes shut. My heart thumps so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Opening and closing my mouth, I finally manage to force out, “Hi.”

Fuck. Me.

I should’ve hung up the damn phone.

“What are you doing?” His voice is deep, sending a shiver skating over my flushed skin.

What am I doing?

Logic seems to launch itself out the window as I pry my eyes back open and blow out a breath, which turns into a whiny sigh-like noise. “I’m sitting on my living room floor, questioning the rug I bought the other day.” I run my fingers over it. “It’s super soft, but I don’t think it really goes with the space, y’know?”

There’s a stretch of silence. Then he asks, “Are you drunk?”

“Camille.” My name acts as a warning. I’m not sure what for. Scratch that. I don’t fucking care what for.

“I’m…” My voice trails off as I run my finger along the edge of the coffee table, completely forgetting what I was going to say. Or maybe I had no idea where that sentence was going from the start. Or this conversation. “I shouldn’t have called you,” I mumble, scrubbing my free hand down my face. “Why? Why do I keep making these bad—no, these terrible —decisions when it comes to you?”

“I can’t answer that,” he says in a level voice.

“I should go now.”

“If that’s what you want.”

That hits a nerve, and I let out a humorless laugh. “None of this is what I want.”

There’s a soft sigh through the phone. “Camille—”

“No,” I snap as tears prick my eyes, only fueling the swirl of emotions in my chest. “You had to go and ruin everything. And you know what the worst part is? I can’t even hate you for it.” I swipe angrily at the tears that escape my eyes, thankful he can’t see them. See how easily I’m falling apart. “You saved my life and fucking ruined it in the same heartbeat.” I choke on the lump in my throat and grit my teeth against the pressure building in my chest. All I want to do is scream.

“This isn’t a conversation to have right now.”

I laugh too loudly. This isn’t a conversation we should have, period. I shouldn’t be talking to him at all. Realistically, I know that. But getting my head and my heart on the same page these days is…challenging.

“What conversation should we have right now?”

He sighs, though it doesn’t sound irritated exactly. Sad maybe? “What are you doing?”

I hum a pitchy tone, hugging the tequila bottle to my chest. “Making a new best friend. His name is Jose Cuervo.”

“Hmm. I have a feeling you’re not going to appreciate that particular friendship later on.”

“I’m not thinking about that,” I ramble, grabbing a throw pillow off the couch and lying on the floor, tucking it under my head.

“What are you thinking about?” he murmurs.

I close my eyes, inhaling slowly, then exhale a heavy sigh. “Too fucking much, your majesty .”

A giggle slips free, and I slap my hand to my forehead, making my head spin.

“I understand more than I’d like to.”

His subdued tone makes my chest ache, and I sniffle softly, whispering, “I miss you. That’s really what I’m thinking about—all the damn time. That, or how much I shouldn’t be missing you and all the reasons why.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “You’re right,” and fuck if that doesn’t feel like a dagger to the chest.

What was I expecting him to say? That he misses me too?

Don’t be so naive , I chide myself.

“I know that,” I bite back.

“You should go to sleep.”

“So you can invade my dream?” I shoot at him.

He exhales a soft laugh, but his tone isn’t joking when he says, “Because you sound tired.”

Anger bubbles in my chest, rising swiftly. “Careful now. Don’t want to make it seem like you give a shit about a weak little human.”

I sit up and immediately wish I hadn’t when the room starts spinning and bile coats my throat.

“I answered your call, didn’t I?”

I hate the way his words steal the breath from my lungs. I press my lips together, my pulse thrumming. Instead of fumbling through a response, I drag myself upright and shuffle through the apartment to my room, where I fall into bed.

The line is quiet as I pull the blankets around me, willing my stomach to settle as I stare at the swirling ceiling.

“I’ve never been so physically and emotionally exhausted and yet so wired I can’t sleep.”

“The tequila should help,” he remarks dryly, and I almost laugh at how normal our conversation feels right now.

I close my eyes, trying to convince my muscles to relax as I roll onto my side and hug a pillow to my chest. “Will you stay with me?”

“Do you remember what I said to you before we stormed Lucia’s compound two weeks ago?”

My breath hitches as I’m transported back to that day.

“For as long as you want me, I’ll be by your side. The gates of hell couldn’t keep me away from you.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, thankful he can’t hear the race of my pulse. “Seems that’s exactly what they’re doing,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

“Need I remind you that you’re the one who left Seattle?” His tone is level, unbothered, which irks me further.

“Yeah, after you went all ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ on me. What should I have done, Xander? Bowed to you like that room full of demons did?”

There’s a gruff sound on the other end of the phone, something akin to a growl that brings the warmth back to my cheeks.

“We had a plan,” I rush to add. “When that was derailed, I panicked. I did what I had to do to protect my sanity.” I hug the pillow tighter and admit, “I’m hanging on by a thread most days and I make no apologies for what I’ve done to keep my head above water.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoes with a hint of amusement.

I sigh. Even this ridiculous banter is making me long for what we had before everything went to hell. “I should…I’m going to hang up now.”

“Okay,” he says.

The pang of disappointment that surfaces when he doesn’t try to continue the conversation makes me blink my eyes open. I reach for my phone, my finger hovering over the button to end the call.

“Camille?”

My heart lurches, and I whisper back, “Xander?”

“Sweet dreams, mo shíorghrá .”

I’m caught off guard by the rush of tears that burn my eyes, and I quickly disconnect, kicking myself for calling him to begin with.

One of these days, I’ll learn to fight my weakness.

Better yet, I’ll conquer it altogether.