Page 62 of Married to the Devil

My father sold his own people.

The sun is bright, but my soul feels cold. I just keep seeing the smiling women in the photograph with their arms around their daughter and son, the son sticking his tongue out.

“Stella.” The growl is familiar, but the man in the business suit is not. I frown at the stranger. There’s a black car behind him and a few people standing at attention who I’ve seen before but can’t quite place.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses as he strides forward. I freeze when I realize why a human-looking man with pale eyes and an entourage of people around him knows who I am.

I would recognize this force even with my eyes closed.

“Stoneheart,” I say in greeting.

There’s a surprised hitch in his step. Is it because I can identify him through his glamour, or is it my unapologetic tone? Ben steps closer behind me in support. If he’s surprised by Stoneheart’s appearance, he doesn’t show it, but there’s a wariness about him.

“I wanted to see the scene of the most recent missing family. You might not think I can be helpful, but it’s my place to assist,” I say.

Stoneheart’s face disagrees, but he doesn’t voice his opinion about myplacein this territory. Probably because people are watching. And they are watching. The noisy street seems to have suddenly quieted. The humans still walk by, oblivious to what’s playing out. But the people hiding in plain sight, seated at the outdoor café next to the Sova’s building, waiting with a stroller to cross the street, pretend not to be trying to overhear our conversation.

Shifters and whatever other magical folk reside here are watching.

There’s a pause before Stoneheart strides back to the car and opens the door to the town car.

“Get in the car, wife,” he grits out.

I swallow at the sight of the giant back seat he’s directing me to. A shiver of trepidation runs up my spine at his anger, but it only serves to remind my body of what we did last night.

I knew he’d be unhappy with me, but I won’t let the controlling gargoyle tell me what my purpose is anymore. He had his chance.

I’m tempted to get out of riding with him, but with a look at his expression, which is eerie with a human face, I decide not to risk it.

With my decision made, I approach him.

“Lady Stella,” a younger blond man says from behind my husband with a touch of awe in his voice. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Stoneheart rolls his eyes. “Andrew, ride back with Silas.”

“Who’s that?” I ask after the man ducks his head bashfully and walks to the other car. An official guy with a stiff posture and glasses who I assume is Silas in glamour nods to me before entering the vehicle.

“Your cousin. I’m making him useful. Now, get in the car.” He glares at Ben. “Meet us back at the penthouse.”

“I’ll remind you again that I don’t take orders from you,” Ben says coolly before checking with me.

The leather of the back seat is comfortably warm after the chilling things we’ve discovered, but Stoneheart intends this to be a private ride together.Fuuuck.

The gargoyle narrows his eyes at me, and I meet the challenge.

“It’s okay, Ben. I’ll see you back at the penthouse,” I say.

The look on Stoneheart’s face says Ben’s going to pay for resisting his order. He leans toward him, his voice low. “You told me that she’d be safe with you.”

“I was safe,” I argue.

“But not secure,” Ben says as if on some other wavelength than me. “I knew what I was doing, and I’ll pay the price for it.”

Stoneheart’s nostrils flare, but Ben is gone before he can push him in the car with me like he seems tempted to.

With grace and what must be the most expensive type of glamour, Stoneheart slides into the back seat with me. I go to move to the seat across, but his hand grips my thigh as if to keep me from moving away from him.

The privacy window is up, blocking us from the driver. We’re alone.

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