Chapter 11 - Delilah
Pulling up the zipper on the side of my dress with a disgruntled huff, I glare at the mirror as if my reflection is my own worst enemy.
A party for the prince?
“Pfft!” I stick out my tongue and imagine my parents’ faces in the mirror, and I'm the rebellious child who's earned their disdain.
They didn't even bother to throw a party for me when I announced my marriage to Hunter, yet the prince is getting one in his honor.
It's not that I mind, since I hardly enjoy the unnecessary attention.
But it feels like their grandest act of spite because Hunter isn't the alpha they hoped I'd bring home as my fated mate.
I ran off and eloped with someone who doesn't have status to his name, and my only saving grace is having a sacred bond with him.
As if that bond means anything!
It's not like it stopped him from breaking my heart before, and behind these closed doors, he's nothing to me.
But that kiss yesterday….
I groan as my inner wolf reminds me of the chaste kiss we shared to maintain appearances in the pack center. As far as Shadow Fang is concerned, Hunter and I are a couple in love, and that's the only thing keeping my parents from breathing down my neck about marrying the prince.
That ship has sailed, but the prince didn't board the ship and still sticks around, lapping up my parents’ graciousness and hospitality as if he doesn't have a kingdom to run in Europe.
What nonsense!
My body's response to Hunter's lips when they met mine was completely absurd, too. Everything happening around me seems to be distracting me from my real mission, which is uncovering the truth from the witch, Gwen.
She's in Scarborough now, and I haven't found time to speak to her yet. From preparations for the party to trying to keep my distance from Hunter, both physically and emotionally, I've been neglecting my main mission.
One of the things that sold the idea of the fake marriage to Hunter was staying in the States and helping my friends, but now I'm forced to keep up appearances with my fake husband at a party thrown for the prince.
I roll my eyes at the ceiling, dragging my feet and grabbing my heels from the wardrobe.
They remain dangling in my hand as I step out of my bedroom, and I glance at Hunter's door, wondering if he's ready to go.
I still have a few last-minute catering things to sort out before the party starts, so I decide not to wait for him. I'll meet him at the party.
I knock on his door, but there's no reply, only the distant sound of water pattering on the tiles in the shower.
“Hunter!” I yell out, my voice carrying over the shower spray.
“Yeah?!” he returns from inside the shower.
“I'm heading to the hall. I need to double-check the kitchen!”
“Okay! I'll meet you there!”
Nodding as if he can see me through the door, I pad my way out of my house, hating the dress, despising tonight's festivities, resenting my own skin.
“Ugh!” I groan toward the sky as soon as I'm outside, hating everything that's going on around me.
It's like I can't catch a break.
Stomping my way to the town hall, I make a face that borders on disgust at the fairy lights hanging on the trees, revolted by the lavish party being thrown for the prince when my parents have barely spoken to me about my marriage.
As if ignoring it will just make it go away. I just have to hang on a little longer until the prince leaves and I'm in the clear. Then I can decide on what to do about Hunter.
I can't have him around forever; my heart simply can't bear being faced with the one thing that ripped it to shreds the first time around.
Perhaps it's somewhat of a respite, throwing myself into other things that keep me distracted, like checking the kitchen for final touches on the feast planned for tonight, before finally slipping on my heels.
When soft orchestral music starts playing on the speakers and the lights dim in the hall, Father takes the stage to welcome everyone just as the prince arrives with his entourage of guards.
He's praised again for gracing us with his divine presence, and I internally roll my eyes at the way Father can't stop singing the man's praises.
I glance at the door, which has been closed, noticing that Hunter hasn't arrived yet.
Biting my bottom lip as I grow another layer of irritation at his lateness, I sense someone watching me as the music becomes louder and the pack members make their way to the open space in the front of the hall for an opening dance.
“Where are you, Hunter…?” I mutter irritably under my breath, startled when an unfamiliar hand touches my shoulder.
“Miss Hargreeves,” Prince Damion bows curtly, offering out a hand. “May I have this dance?”
“Er—” I suddenly freeze, only my eyes flickering around. I was hoping to avoid any encounter with the prince tonight, but Hunter isn't anywhere around for me to slip away.
How are we supposed to keep up this facade when he didn't even show up for the party?
I push my anger aside, having to think on the spot.
“I'm waiting for my husband,” I politely decline his offer. “He'll be here any time now. Poor thing is running last-minute errands for my father,” I shake my head, forcing a feeble smile on my face.
Prince Damion clicks his tongue and straightens up, his hand remaining out. “It's just a dance, Delilah,” he purrs my name. “I'm sure your husband won't mind.”
My eyes flit to my parents as they dance between the crowd, staring into each other's souls and appearing to waltz in their own little bubble of bliss.
I can't imagine myself doing that with the prince, and I shake my head again.
“Sorry, Prince Damion, but I'll wait for my husband.”
Prince Damion smiles, his blue eyes twinkling with wonder. “You must love him dearly, I'm sure of it.”
“Y-Yeah. Y-Yes,” I lie, and turn on my heel. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”
The second the prince dips his head, I disappear to the exit at the back of the hall, breathing out a sigh of relief as soon as the night air brushes my cheeks.
Love?
I don't love Hunter anymore. I hate him.
Especially now, when he hasn't shown up to the party.
What was he thinking, making a fool of me like this?
Grunting angrily, I decide not to go looking for him and instead direct my thoughts toward something more constructive in an attempt to distract myself from everything going on.
Gwen.
I'll go speak to Gwen and see if I can make any progress with the only thing that should be a priority: finding the dark lord before he attacks us.
***
I watch as Gwen stares at her palms, empty and void of any magic. She can't wield her magic with the safety measures set in place by my mother in this holding cell.
Though Mother hasn't breathed a word about Hunter and our marriage, at least we agreed on one thing when I told her about Gwen and everything that's happened since Arianna turned out to be a witch linked to our coven.
Keeping Gwen in Scarborough and getting a lead on the dark lord is of utmost importance, and so is preventing her from using her magic. She's already attacked us once.
I've been trying to get her to speak for the past hour, but to no avail. We've been going back and forth, with her repeating the same story.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Delilah. I don't know any warlock. I've never met a man who wields magic,” she says again, sheepishly lifting her eyes to meet mine.
Mentally, I'm trying to calculate how she could be lying, but her eyes appear sincere. But Arianna couldn't have been wrong about seeing the warlock in Oakland, and Gwen had been acting strangely enough to get the attention of the locals.
Not forgetting that she attacked us in the woods, I hang onto my suspicions.
Sighing, I get off the bench and wrap my fingers around the bars of the cell, pleading with my softened gaze.
“Please, Gwen. You must know something. It's no coincidence that we found you where the dark lord was suspected to be.
My friend, the other witch who's just like me, saw four witches in Oakland, working with the warlock.
You're the only witch we found out there.”
“What if it is just a coincidence?” she argues. “I've been a witch my whole life, Delilah. Someone must have noticed and told you their suspicions. That's all. I've never been a part of a coven, let alone some group of four.”
I shake my head, not knowing if I can trust her. I know Arianna, and I trust her with my life. “Not with the way you drew attention to yourself. They said they saw you in the bakery, muttering under your breath in a language they couldn't understand.”
Gwen frowns. “In a bakery? I don't eat sweet stuff. I have a…” she gulps and hesitates.
“You have a what, Gwen?” I probe.
Gwen shakes her head slowly. “I have an allergy to sugar. I don't ever go to the bakery.”
I sigh again. “Look, Gwen, I know that having your magic repressed is affecting you. I know what it feels like. But I can help you use it again, you're just gonna have to be honest with me.”
“You think I'm lying?” Gwen scoffs, for the first time sounding like she's beginning to get irritated.
“I don't know what to think, because you're not giving me much to work with here.”
“No, I get it!” Gwen suddenly snaps, her eyes narrowing at me as if she's about to lose her temper. “You think you're better than me, just because you're part wolf! I have gone my whole life being labeled crazy, and this is no different! But one thing I'm not is a liar!”
For the first time ever, Gwen raises her voice, and I decide to take things slowly again, not wanting to rouse her like this. I won't get anything out of her if she doesn't trust me, and it'll only cause more resistance.
“I'm sorry, Gwen. I didn't mean it like th—”
“Delilah?! What are you doing in here?!” Hunter's shocked voice snaps my attention toward the door where he's coming in.
“I—” I stop myself with a grimace, remembering the promise I made to him about not questioning Gwen alone.
Frowning when I notice him wearing the suit I arranged for him to wear for the party, I realize he's dressed for it, despite not showing up, and my irritation mounts again.
There's only a flicker of awareness that comes through my irritation, and it's mostly because of how dapper he looks in the black suit that matches his black hair and eyes, contrasting against the gold tan of his skin.
“You weren't at the party,” I remark snidely, and he stops as he's about to approach us.
“I did go there,” he frowns. “I noticed it already started, and I noticed that you weren't there.”
“You were late.”
“No, I wasn't,” he continues, frowning as he proceeds to come forward. “I was five minutes early, actually, considering your mother told me the party starts at eight.”
I groan, rolling my eyes as realization sets in. “It started at seven.”
“Let me guess…the prince was on time,” Hunter sneers, his irritation evident in the way he scowls. I nod hesitantly.
He comes closer, his arm brushing my shoulder for a brief second that ignites a fire deep within my being.
With a shocked gasp, I turn slowly, feeling heat rising on my face like it had when Hunter kissed me yesterday. Though the kiss was brief and modest, it aroused my soul in ways that I've been denying all this time.
The brief brush of his arm on my shoulder does the same thing and forces me to face the effect of the mate bond that keeps cropping up. I can hardly tear my gaze from his face as he stares intently at the witch through narrowed eyes.
That's when I notice the moment Gwen accidentally touches Hunter's knuckles where he has his fingers curled around the metal bar, and she gasps too, quickly snatching her hand back and clutching it to her chest as if she's been stung by something.
Hunter jerks back as if he felt the sting too, glaring at Gwen with the same accusation. He snaps his head in my direction, directing that accusing glare at me.
“Leave the witch alone, Delilah!” he warns, his voice low and threatening as he grates through gritted teeth. “She's bad news. You have to leave her alone!”
With a rumbling growl directed at Gwen, Hunter storms off out of the dungeon, shutting the door behind him with a powerful thud.
I turn to Gwen with a frown. “What was that?” I ask. “What just happened?”
Gwen, who still appears stunned, her face paling, shakes her head slowly. “I saw the darkness within him,” she murmurs, frightened. “I felt it. I saw it. He's carrying all of it on his shoulders.”
“What did you see?”
Gwen gulps. “His past.”
The past I know nothing about….
The mysterious past he's never opened up to me about….
What is he carrying?
“Tell me what you saw, Gwen,” I plead, but she shakes her head with frightened, wide eyes.
“I shouldn't have seen that,” she whispers. “I don't know why I saw that. But it's not my story to tell.”
Whatever Gwen saw, Hunter felt it, too. That's why he snapped at me. He's carrying darkness within him, and I care too much to let it consume him. With a frustrated, defeated groan, I decide to go after him.