“She’s a Witchling.” Hart rubbed his head, mussing up his long hair. “They’re all like that. Rich. Entitled. Powerful.”
“And that makes it okay?” My tone was sarcastic.
Hart winced. “Of course not, but what can we do? It's his choice.”
I thought about the wound on Remi's head. The defeated slouch in his posture. She had been in his life for a few weeks, and already she'd managed to lay a foundation of fear and rage as the bedrock of her relationship.
“He’s mine,” I whispered, looking down at my hands.
Jae's hand had never left my thigh, but he squeezed my leg to remind me it was there. “He’s not, Mara.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Jae continued to speak. “The first thing Remi did when he found out about your bond was to ask how to get rid of it. You can't force this kind of connection on someone. It doesn’t work that way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s exactly what you did.”
“But I knew that you wanted it. I felt it.” Jae's eyes sparkled with mischief. “Besides, if we weren't meant to be, nothing would have happened.”
I eyed the closed bedroom door. Thinking about Remi, alone, made my stomach squirm, but I remained on the sofa. Powerless.
Davenport stood up, taking his plate into the kitchen before he washed his hands and returned. He paused for a second and picked up the bullets. “We should all get to bed. It's been a long day.”
Hart nodded, slapping his legs as he stood up. Subconsciously, as if the wolf was not aware of the movement, he pushed my braid to the side and nuzzled my neck, before drifting to Jae's room.
Davenport glanced at the door and then back again. “Mara, a word?”
Hugo grabbed my hand as I walked past, following on Davenport’s heels, to steal a quick peck on the cheek.
“Visit my dreams tonight.” Hugo Sinclair cupped my face, his words were a soft plea and a dirty promise.
I licked my lips, and I shook my head to clear it as I walked down the steps of the cabin. Davenport paced on the dirt path at the bottom of the porch steps. He looked wound up and ready to blow.
I steeled myself for a dressing down, but Davenport turned away and dropped his head like a man at a funeral.
“I shouldn’t have collared you.” He said. Warren's words were muffled as his chin rested on his chest.
I had nothing to say to that. I knew why he had done it.
“You did nothing to prove that you wanted to hurt my Hunters or me, and I treated you like a feral dog simply because you were a Demon.” Warren continued, his voice was full of self-directed rage.
Unable to take his pain, I stepped forward and pressed my hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back through the material. His skin was hot, but he did not look up at me.
“You could have taken the collar off at any time.” Davenport laughed bitterly. “You humored me.”
I brushed my finger along the straight edge of the silver collar and smiled to myself. I had humored him.
Warren Davenport whirled around, his arms lashed out, and he gripped the top of my shoulders, holding me in place. My eyes widened, but I did not pull away.
“I'm a strange man. I can admit that.” Davenport's lips tightened, but I did not speak as his words rushed out. He was desperate to be heard. “I have command of everything in my life, and I like it that way. My Hunters. My lovers. Myself. I don’t have command of you.”
“And that scares you?”
“It terrifies me.” He admitted, his smile turned self-deprecating. “You never do what I think you're going to do.”
“I’m a Demon.” I winked, extending my arms with a flourish.
Davenport did not smile. “You’re more than that, Mara. So much more.” His arms on my shoulders tightened, and with one swift jerk, my body was pulled to his, and his head was buried in my hair. Davenport was so much taller than my host, so he had to hunch over, but his arms wrapped around my body and held me in place.
“Is this a hug?” I asked, the sound was distorted by the fabric of his black tactical jumper.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of his body wrapped around mine. Safety. Comfort. Love. “I like it,” I admitted with a tiny smile.
By the time I crept back into the cabin, all of the lights were off, and everyone appeared to be asleep.
I went to the bathroom and did my business. I tried to be as quiet as possible, tiptoeing through the house. I failed spectacularly when I opened the bathroom door and found Remi taking up the entire doorway, his hand raised poised to knock.
I flew backward, with an impressive squeak, and bashed my hip into the side of the porcelain sink. It throbbed with the possibility of a large bruise.
Remi stepped forward, his large hand spread over my hip as he rubbed the area as gently as possible. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He whispered, mindful of the quiet cabin.
I poked him in the middle of his chest and smirked when the big lug hissed in a breath. “Serves you right.”
Remi glanced down the hall at the doorway to the spare bedroom. “Can I talk to you?”
“Always.” I did not want to sound desperate, but I meant it. I would always have time for Remi.
The Witchling looked like he didn’t know if he should be pleased that I had said yes. Every expression I had seen on his face recently was full of indecision and pain.
Jae's spare bedroom was painted a dusty pink, but the bedsheets were minimalist white, and the room was bare of any personal touches. I made myself comfortable on the edge of the bed, feeling dull wooden exhaustion begin to claim the muscles in my legs.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked as Remi shut the door softly and leaned against it.
Remi rubbed his face, pressing his hand against his eyes and holding it there. When he spoke, he kept his hand in place like it was painful for him to look at me when he said the words.
“I don’t know what to do.” Remi's voice wavered. “I need someone to tell me what to do.”
I sat up but restrained the urge to go to him. Part of me wanted to make a joke, and imply that he was asking the worst possible person for advice—but that wasn't what Remi needed.
“Tell me.” I cleared my throat to speak around the awkward lump that had crept up.
Remi did not uncover his eyes. “I thought I could deal with it. Marrying someone that I don't know. Or love.”
I said nothing.
“I can't do it, Mara.” He whispered. “I’m not a person to her and her family. I'm a stud. The promise of powerful children. I don't have a lot of time. I'll live past thirty if I'm lucky. If I use magic after that, I'm gone. I don’t want to live my life like that.”
My heart broke for him. “Remi, you won't die.”
“You don’t know that.” His hand ripped from his face, and his eyes burned with anger. “I want to spend my life with someone that makes me happy.”
“You came to America for her,” I said softly.
“I came because it was what my family wanted.” Remi corrected me. “I can't live for them. I have to live for me. I can't do anything about the color of my skin or my heritage. I shouldn't have to.” Remi stepped forward, stalking closer until I found myself pushed back against the bed.
I wanted to tell him that he was immortal. That being my mate had freed him of his Witchling curse, and that his life was bound to mine.
Instead, I whispered his name. His lips brushed against mine. Tenderly as I was made of glass.
“I’m not going to marry her.” He told me, speaking the words as if he couldn’t believe he was saying them out loud.