Page 8 of Married to the Devil

I close and lock the balcony doors first. The snick of the latch helps me separate from the emotions that threaten to continue to rage.

I inhale and continue moving, pacing the suite, hating that his scent still has the ability to make my mouth water.

I need to wash this claiming away. A shower would be heavenly, but I eye the room doors doubtfully. I’m alonehere and hardly protected. The guards standing outside are Stoneheart’s men, and I’ve lost my trust in them. They didn’t mastermind what happened, but they’ve been tarred by the same brush.

Anger comes crackling back to the surface.

I’m angry at everyone. The Council, the guards, the nameless woman acting as the Council’s spy who will probably gossip about me to a territory where I have no friends, andespeciallymyhusband.

My skin starts to itch. I need to wash off, even if it’s not a full shower. The bathroom is as outstanding as the rest of the room. As big as my bedroom at home and the giant tub has Jacuzzi jets. Bitterness flares at the back of my throat. I’d very much have enjoyed this whole experience if Stoneheart hadn’t plotted behind my back.

There’s a stack of washcloths that I make quick use of before I notice what’s missing. I frown, looking through all the cabinets.

There are no towels.

What the fuck? Incredulous, I go back into the room to search the closets. The towels aren’t the only thing missing.

My bag was supposed to be here with clothes and toiletries for the night and my cell phone. The plan had been that we spend the night at this hotel because it’s neutral ground. The silent understanding was that we’d consummate the marriage, then move to the building in the Leonid territory where Stoneheart had set up his base of operations.

Did Stoneheart misplace my stuff on purpose? Is this a way he’s trying to control me? My rose-colored glasses for him have truly shattered after his earlier stunt.

But his items are missing too.

As much as his true colors seem to be all asshole, this feels too elementary for him. The humiliation of the interruptionserved to confirm our mating with the Council. Me being trapped here with no towels only serves to diminish my standing…

I groan, and my eyes sting.

Shifters.

The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Some disgruntled Leonids decided to poke the new leadership. It’s juvenile, but I expected some dominance issues with this take over.

I want a shower and to pass out in a comfy bed, but that’s not going to happen until I solve this.

This would be an inconvenience if Stoneheart were here. But alone? If I use the hotel phone, people will find out that he’s gone. I’d have to wrap myself in sheets to speak with the guards, and that would be more debasing than I can handle tonight. I can’t trust their discretion.

I’m familiar with the game of hierarchy that shifters play but fuck everyone. I’m a witch. I play by my own rules.

I blow out a breath. I have options.

I pull the sheet free from under my enemy, the duvet, and wrap myself in it. Immediately feeling better.

I kick at the destroyed wedding dress. The torn fabric is too similar to my ragged emotions for comfort.

I pick up a couple of pins that litter the floor, avoiding the memory of just how fully Stoneheart had played me with his seduction. The bitterness will be useful for later. Right now, my fingers itch, and I wish I had my tools.

I don’t need my pliers or soldering iron to work my magic, but it would make it easier. The pins are ultimately wire and pearl and bite into my calluses as I twist the metal. The sting is welcome as I work.

There’s one person who told me to call him if I needed anything. He didn’t mean magically, but I’m nothing if not resourceful.

I pluck a flower from the carpet next. The energy that warms my fingers takes on a deep, sweet note that makes me want to press my face in and inhale. It wouldn’t work. The magic is only picking up traces of the man who organized the flowers.

I have no talent for crafting a charm using plants, butmeaninggives objects power. Symbolism may be a statement, but when it’s used to communicate? To give one last message?

That’s impactful…but only if he’s thinking of me.

3

REMY

---