Page 7 of Bedeviled

“Remember the surprise I mentioned earlier?” he asks.

I nod absently. This morning, when I left his house for Henbane, he had mentioned a surprise, one he intended to give me before our wedding.

“This is it,” he says. “I married you once in Rome. I figured that we would come back here to pick out your wedding gown.”

My eyes widen.

“You want me to pick out a dress?” I ask.

“And a ring for me,” he adds.

A gown I’d get married in and a ring I’d place on his finger. My stomach does a funny flip at the thought.

I take in Memnon all over again. The man is clad in a tux, his hair combed and styled. To him, this marriage isn’t some bureaucratic event he signs his name on. It means something to him, and he obviously wants it to mean something to me.

My cheeks heat at the thought.

I clear my throat. “So we’re going to pretend I had a choice in this?” I say, trying to act unaffected.

“You did have a choice.”

I scoff. “Between killing off a room of my friends and marrying you,” I say. “Only you would consider that a choice.”

“Fine, then you can pick out a pair of handcuffs while we’re here—I know how much you enjoy seeing me bound up in your bed.”

My jaw goes slack, even as my eyes narrow. “First of all, that was your bed⁠—”

“Our bed,” he corrects me.

“—second of all⁠—”

His lips curl. “I’m pleased, little witch, that you don’t bother denying it.”

I bite back a quick retort, intent to stick to my point. “I used the handcuffs because they were convenient at the time and you are slippery, not because I have a kink,” I say, louder, fighting for my life through this conversation.

His grin only grows. “The gods and I both know you’ve had kinks far longer than there have been names for them. Imprisoning me so you can use me for your pleasure is simply one of⁠—”

I cover his mouth, even as my cheeks heat again.

Against my palm, I feel the sorcerer smile. It’s too bad you can no longer control me through that forged bond, he says, openly taunting me. Then again, I’d be willing to forge another one later tonight when I’m buried inside you. Control, after all, is one of our shared kinks.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You are awfully bold for a man who’s marrying an unwilling woman.”

Gently, he pulls my hand away from his mouth. “Is that what you are?” he says softly. “Unwilling?”

His eyes see too much, and I have to look away. I don’t know what I am.

“I do.” Memnon brings my hand to his lips. “Witch,” he whispers, kissing my thumb. “Queen.” He kisses my pointer finger. “Soul mate,” he says, his eyes flicking to mine.

“Unwilling,” I throw in.

“Bride,” he continues, his lips lingering for an extra moment on my ring finger before moving to my pinky. “Mine,” he finishes.

I swallow the unnamable emotion rising in me. Memnon loves to nudge the conversation right here, to this vulnerable place where his feelings for me are on display and they force me to reconcile my own feelings for him. Each time it gets harder and harder to deny this ridiculous and growing…softness I have for him.

“I’m only a little bit willing,” I whisper.

“Sure,” he says earnestly.