Page 20 of Married to the Devil

“Just until the territory is stabilized. It’s the least we can do,” I say, a small part of my heart cheering even as the rest of me is sure I’ve signed my own death warrant.

7

STELLA

“You’re goingto rot your teeth,” the woman introduced to me as Francesca says to the lizardman with green scales wearing a suit tailored around the tail he currently wraps around his bar stool.

“My fangs are fine, thank you for your concern. Life is too short for that cardboard you prefer.” The lizardman’s name is Silas. I faintly remember that he acted as my husband’s best man in my wedding yesterday.

He’s Stoneheart’s second-in-command and much nicer than his boss. Which he demonstrated by asking me if I slept well as he ushered me to the kitchen and got me coffee.

Anyone giving me coffee is obviously a friend in the making, even if his boss is a dick.

His sugary cereal of choice contrasts with the very serious, if polite, persona that he projects with his wireless reading glasses and the laptop he’s practically attached to.

Francesca narrows her eyes and continues to eat her whole grain toast which doesn’t resemble cardboard. I should know. She made me a couple of slices to go with her own. I’d declined the eggs and sausage that she’d made for herself.

She’s just as well dressed as Silas, but instead of a staid black suit, hers is a sharply cut burgundy. I’m glad I took my time in getting ready this morning. If I were in my usual leggings and baggy crop top, I’d feel unbelievably grubby in this crowd.

I’d donned a simple black sheath dress after artfully applying my makeup and blowing my hair out to sleek perfection without much thought. Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen a color used for grieving to mark the first day of being married to Stoneheart, but I gravitated toward the solid color. Being put together helps me feel more stable.

And it stems my envy of the other woman’s composure. Francesca’s movements are full of a power and grace that has her low, sleek ponytail flicking. From that and her large breakfast, I’m willing to bet that she’s a feline shifter of some sort.

I may not be capable of being as calm as she is right now, but I can at least appear my best in the face of the unexpected.

This morning is not going how I assumed it would be. For one, I didn’t know that there were other people living in the penthouse of this building with Stoneheart and I. Not that it bothers me. I like being around people and have a good feeling about these two.

Anyone who acts as a buffer between me and Stoneheart is practically BFF material.

Despite what he’d told Ben, Stoneheart did not meet us here last night.

When Ben dropped me off, Silas had been here to show me to my room and tell me where everything is. He’d only narrowed his eyes at Ben for an instant, but that was all it took for Ben to step away from me and bid adieu.

With his task complete, there was no reason for him to stay any longer.

That’s why I’d given him a nod to leave me in this strange penthouse. This is my home now. I need to get used to it.

The less I involve Ben, the better it will be for him.

The entertainment between these two has been top notch so far. Maybe that’s because I haven’t seen Stoneheart today. He still hadn’t returned by the time I went to bed last night after scrubbing my skin so hard it turned pink.

“Where is Fiona?” Silas asks.

“Don’t ask questions about my sister that you don’t want answers to,” Francesca says in sing-song while scrolling through the news on her phone.

Silas’s brow furrows in frustration. “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Francesca shrugs. Her presence exudes an icy confidence that doesn’t affect Silas at all going by the lash of his tail. “She’s checking out the underbelly of the territory.”

Silas stiffens. “Alone?”

Francesca gaze turns bored. “This is a shifter territory, Silas. We’re shifters. She’s fine.”

Silas’s mouth opens, but Francesca cuts him off with an eye roll like she anticipated his concern. “She took one of the guards with her. Connors, I think?”

Silas’s scaled lips press together.

“You’re not her father, though if you wanted to be her mate, she’s certainly teased you enough to warrant it,” she muses.

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