17. Remy

17

REMY

“You’re more brooding than usual this morning,” Silas says.

“People living in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” I respond.

Silas shrugs before inhaling. The library still carries the scent of last night. He nods to me, satisfied at the apparent consummation of my marriage.

Not even his sharp senses would be able to pick up Ben’s assistance. I’ve always known that Stella is good at what she does, but the charm she’d presented last night is nothing less than masterful. My mouth twists bitterly. She’s too good at maneuvering around my plans, and she doesn’t even know it.

She gifted Ben Barnes something priceless. Freedom.

The pressure of others knowing he is involved in my marriage was a lever that I’d been at the ready to press to keep him here. Or at least to help him make the correct decision in the end. I have other options, but I don’t like losing a contingency.

That isn’t the only cause of my mood.

I should be thrilled. The seduction last night was a success.

But I’m brooding .

“Shall we begin?” Francesca asks.

I turn from my contemplation at the window, and Stella is there, sitting at the table, waiting to be included in the business of the territory. As smoothed over and neat as I’ve ever seen her.

Nothing hints at the debauched woman of the night before except for the threading of my scent with hers.

Part of me is satisfied that she carries my scent. The other part doesn’t know what to do with her presence. For all my study of her, I don’t know what’s driving her to have a position in this territory. If it were only revenge, that would be simple.

When our eyes meet, there’s a distance in her expression that there wasn’t last night. She enjoyed our activities, but something is different this morning.

She is one mystery after another.

The meeting goes quickly. There isn’t much new information, but we do have a solid number of at least fifty-four individuals missing and a loose timeline. The last family went missing right before Lorenzo Leonid met his end. The first, nearly a year or so ago.

The trickle was small and slow. A couple of shifters, but mostly the rarer types of paranormals, which doesn’t bode well for our ability to find them. We will try though. I’ve sent people to all the surrounding fae gates for covert surveillance.

The paperwork to get anyone through a gate is extensive and would take time to forge. For now, we’re sure that they weren’t trying to be shuttled through the gate in my original territory or any of Kalos’s if the dragon is to be believed, and I do believe him.

Kalos is one of the rare types of paranormal who would be the target of an operation like this if he weren’t so powerful. He’ll work with us for a world in which those like his unborn child aren’t targeted.

“What can I do?” Stella’s words are full of determination, fire, and the room falls silent.

My seconds both look to me. Francesca’s look is more along the lines of don’t fuck this up while Silas is more considering. They wouldn’t say no to any assistance that Stella would provide but won’t go against my wishes.

I grit my teeth at the idea of Stella interviewing people, making herself vulnerable to the very people we are trying to discover.

“We have this handled,” I say, and the look on Stella’s face falters before she nods.

What is she wanting? I thought her workshop would provide the outlet that she needed, not to mention the demon’s company, but I seem to be overlooking something in the care and feeding of a wife.

Francesca looks like she wants to throw something at me but just rolls her eyes instead.

The meeting wraps up quickly after that. Silas and Francesca are out of the room when my wife approaches me. Her spine is straight and chin lifted. Her stiff posture in this moment is a striking contrast to when I held her writhing body.

She’s erected walls that I want to tear down, but to do that without a plan to be the support she needs is perverse.

“I’m going out today to visit with Katarina today,” she says.

“Oh, are you?” The words are out before I can stop them. Fuck my distracted tongue.

Her eyes narrow. “Yes, I am. We’ll be in Kalos’s home, and I’ll be next to his expecting mate so it’s not a security risk.”

I would have to trust Kalos…which I do, but it doesn’t mean that the idea of having Stella outside of the territory is easier to accept.

“If I spend another day here, I can’t be held responsible for what I do. You obviously don’t need me for anything, and Katarina wants to catch up. So, I’m going.” There’s a wideness to her eyes that verifies her words. She’s feeling shut in. And why shouldn’t she? Until the territory is stable, her every movement must be accounted for.

I wouldn’t have lasted half as long as she has, so why do I expect her to stay where I want her?

Ben won’t let anything happen to her . With that thought, the unease in my chest dissipates. He’ll be on his home turf even. The safest place for her right now is with Kalos.

“I hope you enjoy yourself.” I can’t crush her just because I don’t want her out of my grasp. She must be allowed to flit and flutter to her heart’s content.

I ignore the fact that, somehow, I’ve come to trust the demon. I can trust him to keep Stella safe…but I also believe he wouldn’t keep her from me, and there is no logical reason for it.

How troubling.

The demon of the hour strides into the library wearing his usual suit. There’s only a single hitch in his step when his eyes glide over to the couch we’d desecrated last night, but there’s no scent of embarrassment or arousal. There’s no scent at all.

And I hate it.

As much as I hated the burn of the emotion I felt when she gave Ben the charm. I’d enjoyed sharing her body with him, but the fact that he wears a charm that she crafted specifically for him …this type of jealousy could very well destroy my plans.

“You’re taking me to hang out with Katarina today.” Stella’s sharp tone freezes Ben in his tracks, and his eyes widen. I take comfort in the small fact that I’m not the only one on the other side of her walls this morning.

“Okay,” he says.

“I’ll get my bag,” she says and leaves.

His confusion is comical.

“What did I do?” he asks.

That he would ask me when they’ve been a team of two pulls a smile from me that I wipe away with a hand to my mouth, contemplating.

“You did leave rather abruptly last night,” I say.

His cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean to.”

I nod in understanding. He was overwhelmed. I could track that even without using his scent as a guide. We offered him a feast, and he gorged but ran when the tide of the moment waned.

“She’s not thrilled with me either,” I share in commiseration. “I didn’t necessarily fall over myself and agree when she stated her plans for today.”

“She’ll be safe with me,” he says, and his expression hits me soundly in the chest. He understands what I’m struggling with. Our emotions on the subject may very well be running the same trail, and that sort of sharing—this seeing and being seen—is something I rarely experience.

I clear the sticking point in my throat like that will dispel this exposed sensation.

“She’d better be.”