1. Stella

1

STELLA

Fuckity fucksticks, I’ve really done it now.

The thudding of my heart makes it hard to focus.

The last few days have been a whirlwind leading to this very moment. I stand in the middle of a hotel room. It’s luxurious in shades of cream and gold but dominated by the giant bed behind me.

I don’t spend much time looking around. My attention is solely on the open doorway where a tattooed gargoyle speaks softly with the guards there.

The dust is settling like after a seismic event, but my insides still quake.

Our guests are enjoying themselves in the hotel ballroom a few floors below us. The wedding ceremony was tense, each contingent expecting violence from the other, but this location is neutral ground, and the bar is open.

Which leaves me alone with my husband for the first time.

Holy fucking shit, I’m married. Each breath I take threatens to escalate into a panic attack at the uncertainty of what lies before me.

But I chose this. I chose what I gained from this anyway. Now I’m dealing with the consequences.

Everything has been a rush. Shutting down my charm making business, signing the engagement contract in blood so that my best friend’s dragon mate could dispose of my father. The monstrosity of a wedding full of false congratulations.

I haven’t even told my mother yet.

I shelf the guilt of that. She would have tried to interfere if she had known. I have a little more time. I’d surprised her with a long cruise when I committed to helping the dragon Kalos take down Lorenzo Leonid.

And now, I have my revenge. The man who rejected my mother and ruined her family after I was a born a witch, rather than a lion shifter, is dead.

I just never knew the cost would be so high. Or that the burn of righteous anger would leave a hollow feeling in my chest that gives more room for the chaotic anxiety of my heart.

In order for Kalos to destroy a fellow territory leader, Lorenzo had to be dethroned from within. Since I’m his oldest daughter, whether he claims me or not, my chosen mate would be able to usurp my father while still keeping within our laws.

Enter Remy Stoneheart. A territory leader eager to grow his holdings who doesn’t mind upsetting those in power.

Even facing away from me as he closes the doors to the room, Stoneheart is as intimidating as his reputation. His dark wings take up space even as they clasp around him like a cloak. The black swirling ink on his chest that distracted me during the ceremony continues over his shoulder and down his spine, the top part obscured by his dark hair pulled into a low ponytail.

A gargoyle with no lineage who ruthlessly built a sizable territory within a decade by conquering small holdings one at a time. He’d earned the title the Devil from enemies and allies alike through his ambition and cold-blooded calculation.

And now he has another title, my husband.

“What now?” I ask.

Stoneheart turns toward me, his horns gleam under the soft light of the room as if they’ve been polished. He isn’t as formally dressed for the occasion as I am, only wearing his usual dark kilt that leaves the gray skin of his chest open for ogling. If one dares to.

The heavy silver rings that generally grace his fingers are absent tonight. The small hoops decorating his ears remain, but he’s removed the labret piercing through his lower lip. I only glance over the mystery before his voice derails my pondering.

“We commence with the wedding night, wife .” His deep voice would have been pleasant if there weren’t an edge to it.

I try to not flinch at the new role I’ve received. This whole situation is ill fit to me. I was a simple witch. Powerless to the politics and feuds that dictated the beginning of my life. A pawn on the chessboard that had already been discarded because of a freak accident of genetics.

My pride and joy had been taking the business I’d poured my time and effort in from scraping by to success.

And now that’s gone. I’m a co-territory leader. A wife to this enigmatic gargoyle who most speak of in whispers.

“Oh.” My exhale is a little shaky. I knew this was coming.

We can’t afford to give the Council who governs the magic community a reason to doubt this union. They’re greedy for legal grounds to strike against Kalos.

Of course we will be consummating the marriage tonight. I nod. “All right,” I say more to myself than to him. I wipe my hands on my dress and wish that I still held the bouquet of flowers I’d walked down the aisle with if only to have something to occupy my hands.

The memory of the small blue blooms irritates me enough to cease my fidgeting.

Stoneheart prowls toward me, each step a confident rolling motion, and I swallow. The connection that sparked the first time we met still exists. It strums like a string, pulling me forward a step.

I have a confession.

I’m attracted to my husband. I’ve been attracted to him since he showed up at my shop and offered me this exact agreement years ago. His face is too strong to be considered beautiful, but the lines of it and the sharp angles of his form still have my fingers itching to explore.

But I turned him down then.

My body had responded to his unforgiving presence as he’d laid out the terms, and a na?ve part of me had wished that he’d just ask me out rather than use me to plot his power journey. But I wouldn’t have been able to accept that invitation either. Not while knowing the real reason for his interest in me was in what he’d gain with our joining, the sanctioned war it would start.

I wanted my revenge, but I’m not so selfish that I could justify the blood that plan required.

And now we’re here. Married.

It’s awkward…but he probably doesn’t even remember offering to marry me, never thought of it after he calmly nodded and left. I’d expected anger, but there was none. It was only business.

I didn’t expect to think of him over the years. To imagine what it would have been like to accept the offer from this gargoyle with the power to make my breath catch. The interaction infected me.

I’d compare every date to Stoneheart whether I wanted to or not. Every man I’d cradle between my thighs for a night, I secretly wondered how different the act would be with him. Even wished I hadn’t been quite as quick to reject his offer.

But the morning after would bloom and all the same reasons I didn’t accept were illuminated by the light of day.

Still, I kept my ears open to the politics. I’d watched him gain more standing and power until he became a force similar to Kalos. Until the Council wouldn’t allow him to grow by taking over neighbors anymore.

I almost expected him to make the offer again…

As he stops a step away from me, nerves flutter in my stomach, and the discomfort tightening my lungs isn’t fear, it’s awareness. My skin tingles and itches under the tight wedding dress that was nothing like I would have guessed I’d want to wear, but instantly needed once I saw it.

Stoneheart raises his hand between us, the backs of his claws skimming over the pretty lace encasing my body before lightly resting on the skin over my collarbone. His eyes follow the motion, and I’m transfixed by the cool expression on his face.

“I must place my mating bite on you tonight,” he says almost as an afterthought.

“What?” The word comes out loud in alarm.

“Did you think a wedding would be enough?” he asks, meeting my gaze in challenge.

A bite is serious business. I don’t know the specifics of them since it’s rare for witches to go through the process of being soul bonded, but shifters and others forge mate bonds through bites.

“Isn’t a bond risky?” I ask. If a bonded person dies, more often than not, their mate follows them.

My mind screams at me to take a step back, but I’m trapped by his light gray eyes. A part of me craves the dominance Stoneheart effortlessly exudes, aches to give him anything he requests.

He frowns. “Gargoyles don’t bond through bites. The claiming mark is…superficial.”

“Oh.” I don’t know much about gargoyles, even being as obsessed as I am with this one.

I’m still stuck on the fact he wants to bite me. We’ll be doing more intimate acts than that tonight, but something about that, the way his pale gray gaze burned into me when he said it, makes me hesitate.

“We did sign the contract in blood,” I say, but the moment lets me think instead of panic.

I’ve already come to the conclusion that he’s right by the time he makes a sound of dismissal at my words. The Council will press any advantage they have. Right now, we’re legal mates by marriage. It’s an arrangement that is fine for witches, but shifters would be hard-pressed to recognize it.

More so than the Council, the people in the Leonid territory won’t recognize Stoneheart as my mate without a bite to show for it.

I clear my throat and nod. “You’re right. You have to bite me.”

There’s a lightening of his demeanor and a rush of warmth fills my chest at pleasing him. His hand continues to hover up my neck and the tips of his claws scrape over the delicate skin there.

“Are there any sexual acts off limits?” His question is frank.

“Uh—” My skin heats under scrutiny as I think of all the things I want him to do to me. Each action that my mind brews up only serves to distract me from his question. “I like all the usual things,” I whisper. “Other things can be discussed as they come up.”

There. That sounds reasonable and confident. Not like my thoughts are clamoring under the surface at all.

“You enjoy submission,” he says, and it isn’t a question.

My cheeks burn hotter when I nod.

“Sometimes,” I say instead of only with some people or the even more embarrassing only with you . Because even though I’ve always had a little bit of thrill at the idea of dominance and submission, I’ve never been comfortable enough with anyone I’ve casually dated to try it.

I don’t know how he can even tell. I’ve never been called meek. I’m loud and curse as easily as I breathe. I’ve been called chaos by one man in particular…

He drags his claws through my hair, and the impressive updo weakens under his attention. He pulls away, one of the blue flowers pinned in my hair between his claws.

A forget-me-not. I freeze before forcing my shoulders to relax. There’s no reason to react to it.

“Will your demon be a problem?” he asks, almost conversational.

“Demon?”

Stoneheart arches a sardonic brow but remains silent. He can’t possibly know what the flowers mean, but perhaps he’s picked up on the animosity toward him from Kalos’s right-hand man.

I shake my head to dispel the illusion that Stoneheart can as easily parse my soul apart as read my interest in submission. “Ben isn’t my demon, and why would he be a problem?”

Stoneheart twirls the flower. “He doesn’t like me much.”

“He didn’t like me much either.” To start anyway. Over time, things became murkier. “Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re correct. It doesn’t,” he says, a satisfaction brimming the statement. He lets the flower fall to the floor between us before flicking his claw against the stone of the wedding ring he placed on my finger as if stating his claim. He doesn’t have to use words. I wear his ring now. Anything that could have possibly sprouted between Ben and me withered the moment I chose to marry Stoneheart.

There’s a pang of loss, but I smother it. This is what I chose.

Stoneheart’s hands return to my hair, tugging one of the many pins free before dropping it. His wings unclasp, and I jolt with surprise. His movements slow as if asking permission. He’s so much larger with them unfurled, like an impending shadow about to devour my soul.

The flesh is willing, and my soul? As nervous as I am, that bitch is craving this.

I nod for him to keep going, curious and a little surprised. I’ve never been with a paranormal who isn’t human-shaped. There can’t be all that many differences than being with a man, but idea of him involving his wings in this dance of ours is new.

The talons on the hinge of his wings join the soft but sure action of removing the rest of the pins from my hair. The metal of each one sings as it runs over my scalp, the pearl ends adding the flavor of invigorating salt on the tip of my tongue.

Stoneheart can’t know how the materials affect me. Each pull is delicate and heightens my senses so that the soft brush of his knuckles over my cheek is as arousing as if he’d stroked my breast.

I craft charms. Metals and stones speak to me, and I listen.

Perhaps he does know. The metal of the ring he placed on my finger sings a pure enough song that it’s a quiet baseline. The pear-cut sapphire in the ring symbolizes fidelity and hums with comfort. There are no clusters of other stones to disturb the message. As a gift to a witch who specializes in precious metals and stones, it’s a beautiful one.

It gives me hope for this union. With my attraction toward him, the careful way he watches me now, and the thoughtful ring choice, our relationship may bloom into a real mating rather than only a political one.

He pulls the last of the pins free, dropping it to the lush carpet with the wilted forget-me-not, and my hair cascades down my back and shoulders. Petals and the stubborn flowers that had been so artfully placed for spectacle join the pins on the floor.

My husband hums, his claws combing through the waves of auburn in a way that has my attention rapt.

“So pretty and bright,” he says.

His approval radiates through me, and I yearn to touch him. Spread my hands over his chest. To explore him as readily as he is me. To claim some sort of ownership over this gargoyle who has occupied my thoughts.

But I’m ensnared by his purposeful motions, frozen. Caught between a want to disturb the heavy air around us and a curiosity to see where this goes.

Consummation. A mating bite. A future together.

His claw falls to the sweetheart neckline of the intricate gown and halts against the fabric, snagging. He pulls against it with intention, and the material parts a thread at a time. The ripping can’t possibly be as deafening as it is, but it fills my senses all the same. He moves slowly as he destroys the dress, his eyes taking in the expanse of skin revealed.

My higher brain functions should argue with his actions and call them wasteful, but my throat is tight. Something heavy pools in my belly as the tender skin between my breasts is bared to the cold of the room and the blaze of his gaze.

The bridal lingerie isn’t spared either. As the fabric is destroyed, I’m freed from the constriction of the garment, though my breaths stay shallow.

The contrast of the leashed violence and the tickle of his sharp claw has a curling, sticky warmth growing between my thighs.

I’m trembling by the time he reaches my belly button. The top part of the dress gapes but has too much structure to fall away.

His palm slides between the fabric and my body, resting on the skin of my expanding ribcage. It’s the first time he’s touched me intimately. The kiss sealing our marriage at the end of the ceremony had been perfunctory.

This contact is a searing press, and a soft sound of surprise escapes between my lips at the suddenness of it. He makes an accompanying raspy purr to my quiet exhalation, but the sound cuts off almost immediately.

His grip moves up to cup my bare breast, and my exhale morphs into a whimper as he squeezes the weighted flesh. I tilt forward, unbalanced by the simple act, and my hands fly to his chest. My pale fingers contrast to his inked gray skin in a way that makes me imagine how he’ll look on top of me. If we can get that far before the lack of blood flow to my brain causes me to faint.

“All soft and willing for me,” he breathes, leaning in so that his words tickle my damp lips. “It doesn’t matter if a lover wrapped you up like a present for me. You’re mine now.”

“I—” I start to question his words that clash with his gentle movements, but he steals the words from me with a devouring kiss. I don’t have a lover .

His mouth and sudden cool flavor distract me from the pull of fabric biting into skin as he releases my breast to rip the dress apart. The sound is as harsh as the cold air as the fabric falls from me to pool on the floor. I break the kiss with a gasp.

Stoneheart doesn’t give me time to adjust to being naked. He grips my hair and brings my lips to his again with a snarl that fries my thoughts and doubts.

He tastes like hunger, and I respond to his desire with my own. He wants me. Needs me. Will tear anything between us apart to get to me. It’s a fantasy too enticing to keep my thoughts above water. My body falls into this seduction of few words and all grabbing hands.

There’s finally an honesty to our actions. I can express how much I want him now that we are bound together. It doesn’t matter that my desire for him after meeting a handful of times is foolish. Each scrape of teeth and flick of tongue entraps me.

I press myself against his exposed chest even as his arm around my waist pulls me in. My hard nipples brush against his thicker skin in a tantalizing tease.

I should be pushing away from the rough grip he has around me, but I moan into his kiss. The chemistry that has haunted me for years is potent. The wild nature of his taste and energy gouges deep into my better sense and rips it apart as succinctly as he’d done to my wedding dress.

Stoneheart lifts me from the ruined dress with ease, and my thighs wrap around him. The scant fabric covering my sex is already soaked, smearing his lower stomach with an embarrassing amount of wetness.

“So wet for me already,” he says against my mouth. He lets loose a growl before my embarrassment can slow my actions, and the sound vibrates through me, causing my thighs to squeeze harder around him, my body shivering in an odd needy response.

I tighten my legs around his hips, but there is no corresponding hurry in his movements, no ready promise in his grip.

I nip his upper lip, wanting to speed this along, and he makes a warning sound, breaking our kiss. I grind my wetness shamelessly against his stomach. Something desperate needing him inside me.

“Please.” I beg. “It’s never been like this.”

His eyes narrow for a moment before he tightens his grip on my hair. The pull on my scalp has my eyes rolling back. The world spins, and he lays me down on a soft surface that I distantly register as the bed.

He doesn’t even wait to pull back the undoubtedly expensive duvet to the more disposable sheets below before licking down my chest. His tongue is longer than a human’s, with a tapered tip, and it makes me wonder what other anatomical differences he has.

“You won’t rush me in taking my prize,” he says against the center of my chest before licking over to suck my nipple into his mouth.

I cry out at the contact, and a delicious heat flows through me as my thoughts become stilted and slow.

That’s me. I’m his prize. It’s odd to be objectified and feel so cherished at the same time.

Stoneheart’s mouth releases my tender nipple. His words come out on a snarl. “Your lover must be lacking for you to be so needy.”

Lover. I almost growl in frustration that we’re back on this subject. The feelings I have for Ben are mixed and based on a few interactions that I mentally locked away when I accepted this proposal.

He’s a friend. Sort of. A friend who planned the wedding that altered my life and included sentimental flowers.

“He’s not my lover,” I say. “Never has been.”

Stoneheart’s eyes glint in disbelief, but my irritation is stalled by his mouth switching to my other breast.

The growl that rumbles from him feels possessive and something else I can’t identify. The sound rattles my core. The swollen, empty feeling there intensifies, and the wetness brimming spills from me suddenly.

Shock has my thighs attempting to snap together, but his thick body between them stops the action.

“What was that?” I gasp out. It feels silly to ask, but his kisses aren’t distracting me this time. My body is very clearly doing something when he growls.

His grin is sharp and satisfied. The light catches his fangs, and I shiver. “Biology, wife . You’re my mate and are responding as such.”

He releases another throbbing growl as if to demonstrate, and I squirm and whimper. The need flaring inside me at the sound is insistent. Not quite to the point of pain but approaching it.

The awareness that he can manipulate me so easily is alarming, but my hunger smooths over the reaction.

Stoneheart goes back to sucking on my nipple like it’s a candy-covered treat, and I gasp. My hands slide to either side of his head, skimming over the cold rings in his ears on my way to dig my fingers into his hair. I catch the hint of something heady from the metal, but my husband makes a disgruntled sound. His wing talons capture my wrists and bring them up over my head, trapping them there.

I pull instinctually against the grip but can’t break free.

A fang runs over the sensitized skin of my breast and causes me to still on a shiver.

“Are you okay with restraints?” Stoneheart checks in with me. His breath curls over my heaving flesh, distracting me.

“I don’t know,” I gasp. Too riled up to reflect. I need to be filled. My hips move on their own, grinding against his torso. The talons release my wrists, the sudden disappointment stings and gives insight. “I think I’m good with being restrained.”

But the grip doesn’t return. Instead, his gaze meets mine. “Keep your arms up.”

I swallow and grip the duvet dutifully. His eyes flash with a gratifying lust as the movement makes the tips of my nipples rise, and he dives back into the process of taking his prize .

The bite of his teeth around my nipple has lashes falling and my breath stuttering.

“Fuck!” I moan, forgetting my intention to keep my language “ladylike.”

I grind against his chest with more intention, trying to get any friction against the liquid need. I could probably come like this.

As if reading my mind, Stoneheart travels down my body, licking my skin all the way like he’s starving, and my flavor is ambrosia. He reaches my pussy and pauses. The warmth of his breath through the tiny lace thong has me mewling for mercy.

I’m so needy and saturated with his attention at the same time. The response of my body from his growls not having abated any. His sharp claws pull against the string of the panties. I make a sound of relief when the elastic gives way.

“Is this what your greedy cunt needs?” he asks a breath away from it.

I burn, his words an accelerant and irritant. “It would also like a cock inside it, but sure, we can start here.”

So much for keeping the crassness out of my language.

He chuckles, and I’m about to release the duvet and yank the gargoyle by the horns where I need him, but heat engulfs me. My eyes roll back, and I push against his mouth. Any shyness that existed is gone.

Stoneheart growls, his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips and pull me up. He skips any tentative licks and goes straight to eating me, sucking my arousal from each lip of my pussy before spearing me with that long tongue.

I cry out at the writhing invasion, the tight grip he has on me keeps me right where he wants me, unable to escape from or run toward the sensations. I tighten around his tongue as it presses deep devouring all the arousal he’s inflicted on me as we both groan.

“Stoneheart—” I gasp and break off before starting again. “ Remy ,” I breathe, having never called him by his first name before. “Please!”

His eyes darken, and his tongue slides from me. He rakes his teeth over my inner thigh as if in punishment just as something pointed and smooth presses inside. Not a finger, but the end of his tail . My husband moves to sucking on my clit, and my body doesn’t care which appendage of his is curling inside me.

I shatter. The orgasm is a hot flicking rush. He doesn’t keep the stimulation going to prolong or press the climax higher.

Instead, he rises over me. I spread my thighs open wider for him to thrust home.

But he doesn’t fill my aching core. His tongue slides over the crook of my neck. He grabs one of my arms still above my head and extends it to the side as he kisses the open space between my shoulder and neck. I have a moment to flinch in understanding before his teeth sink into the skin.

“Fucking, ouch!” It hurts . I don’t expect the searing sting and tears to fill my eyes. The hand still in the duvet moves to grip his shoulder as if to push him away, but he holds tight a moment longer before releasing his teeth from my skin.

All of the sudden the moment comes into focus. My husband, my mate, is a stranger to me. Like he said, there’s no warmth of an entwining bond, only a mix of pain and coldness.

Stoneheart makes a satisfied soothing-shushing sound that causes some of the muscles I’ve tensed to loosen. His tongue starts laving over the wound, the sting receding with each pass. His tail fucks into me again, and I take a shuddering breath, blinking away the urge to cry as the charged nature of the moment slowly returns.

“I didn’t know it was going to hurt,” I say, feeling stupid. There’s a prodding disappointment too. A part of me wanted there to be some sort of magical bond between us. Some sort of balm to the fact that this is a marriage of convenience.

“Apologies.” His voice is still lust drenched, and the gravelly nature of it helps return me to the next order of business. His cock presses against me through his kilt, but he doesn’t rush. It takes a few minutes of Stoneheart licking and sucking my neck before the warmth of his skin against mine chases away the remnants pain.

“Mine,” he growls again pulling away to take in the mating mark on my neck. That growl goes a long way to sweeping away the memory of the pain. I tighten around his tail, wishing it was his cock.

I flex my grip on his shoulders, impatience finally taking over. I got a bite for all my obedience before. Now I want the dessert that was promised. My hands go for the fastenings of his kilt, but he bats them away.

He stands between my spread thighs and unfastens the garment himself. His tail slides from me in a rush that leaves me gasping even as I admire the true breadth of his body.

The kilt falls from his hips, and my eyes widen. His size shouldn’t be a surprise. His cock is proportional to his body, but I can already tell it will be a stretch for us to fit together. The gray skin of his body reddens and darkens over his cock. The head seeps milky precum as he strokes the full length.

There’s no hair to obscure my view of his anatomy. There isn’t much difference to that of a man. His shaft and head are similar in shape if much larger than I’ve had before, but the hard bulge at the bottom of his cock before his balls is very different.

Is that a knot? I don’t say it out loud because Stoneheart snarls with the next stroke. His other hand forcefully squeezes the bulge of flesh, and he erupts.

All over me .

Surprise hits me first, followed by his release. His seed splashes hot over my chest and stomach. A stray droplet hits my cheek. I freeze in confusion even as my skin flushes hot under the cooling fluid that is already starting to thicken on my skin.

Stoneheart’s snarl smooths, and he refastens his kilt back to cover himself. Each movement is efficient. There’s no fumbling or halting. There’s no sign of the gargoyle who could growl me to release if he wanted to.

Only one cool action after another. He doesn’t even look at me before he turns away and walks to the alcohol cabinet.

I press up, and rivulets run over my lower stomach to where my thigh was reddened by the scrape of his teeth. The sting of my neck comes back to the surface as the lust drains away.

My confusion spirals, but Stoneheart’s back holds no answers. His wings twitch as if he wants to soar away. The clink of glass as he pours himself a drink doesn’t help.

“What—” I start.

The door bursts open, and I jump in surprise.

“Lord Stoneheart—oh, I see that you’re busy. Apologies.” I don’t recognize the woman. She looks to be in her fifties in a neat pant suit.

I scramble and try to pull the heavy duvet around me in my compromised state, but the damage is already done.

The shine in her eyes is bright as she takes in everything. Me naked on the bed, covered in a mix of sweat and both of our fluids. I catch the flare of her nostrils that makes me assume she’s a shifter and undoubtedly picking up the smell of blood in the air from the mating bite.

She bows her head in respect and swiftly exits, closing the door behind her, but not before I catch the guilty glance from one of the guards. Guards who were supposed to stop any sort of interruption… Weren’t they?

Didn’t Stoneheart lock the door?

Shock morphs into something else, and I start trembling.

The interruption was allowed. Not only that. The humiliation that’s burning my cheeks sinks into the pit of my stomach and churning with the ice there, flashing hot and cold over my senses.

This was orchestrated.

“ You knew .” My accusation is hoarse in the heavy silence of the room.

He scoffs .

“That the Council would attempt to discredit our union? Of course. Only a child would think otherwise.” The words are so caustic that I’m glad that he’s sipping his drink and can’t see my face.

That’s me. A child in a game of words and power.

“You could have told me.” The bitemark on my neck throbs with the betrayal.

He sets the glass on the table, tapping a talon for a breath.

I want to see his expression, to see if this coldness is the reality I’d been too dumb to pick up on. But I’m bare and need a better shield before going into battle.

The duvet I tried to wrap around myself hardly covers anything. He’d skipped pulling it back earlier not because he was so eager for me, but because sheets would allow me too much coverage when the interruption came.

My throat swells and threatens to choke me with the truths of the pretty fantasy in my head.

“There’s no room for error or hesitation. The Council is stocked with predictable players just waiting for a lapse in judgment.” He sighs, and it almost sounds regretful, but the illusion that he feels anything for me, or this situation, is long gone when he faces me again.

“The trick to succeeding in this game, is knowing who the players are…” His gray gaze is icy and dismissive as he takes in my debauched form. “And who are the pieces.”

He turns toward the windows and opens balcony doors that I’d missed in my cursory inspection of the room. “Don’t wait up for me.”

I choke as the Devil spreads the wings I’d so admired and disappears into the night without another word.