I don't hesitate. "Because she's not you."
Blue stares at me as if I just ripped the floor out from under her. Her anger fractures into something jagged, something bruised, something completely out of control.
She shakes her head quickly, trying to rebuild her armor. "You don't mean that."
"Oh, but I do."
"She cast her spell on you!" Blue states with new flames in her eyes.
"I'm done with this conversation. Don't take my warning lightly, or you will find out my wrath," I threaten, then spin and walk toward my car.
"She'll ruin you," she shouts.
I spin, grinning. I spread my arms high in the air and cry out, "I welcome it."
Blue's mouth hangs open.
My smile falls. In a firm tone, I warn again, "Stay away from Valentina."
I get to my car, get in, and start the engine. I rev it, pull out of the garage, and make a resolution.
As much as I dread it, Adrian and I are going to have a conversation. I thought I could handle her on my own, but she's gone too far. No one is going to make threats toward my wife. Not anyone in the Underworld, and definitely not Blue Ivanov.
17
Valentina
Two Days Later
Zara circles me with a concentration that borders on predatory artistry, her fingers adjusting the final fold of the obsidian bodice. Fiona stands behind me, anchoring a veil so it drapes down my back. Both women move around me with decisive precision, almost ceremonial, as though the three of us stepped into a different realm the moment they closed the dressing room doors.
It's freaking me out.
"Hold still," Zara murmurs, lowering to smooth one of the skirts' fiery layers. "If you shift again, it's going to fall wrong in the back."
"I'm not shifting," I counter, even though my hands have betrayed me at least a dozen times, drifting up, then down, then hovering uselessly at my ribs. Each breath coils tighter inside me, and the room gradually shrinks, pressing against my temples.
"You're vibrating," Fiona says lightly, though her words land with more weight than she probably intends.
I attempt humor but miss the mark. "This ritual isn't exactly tea and gossip."
She gives me a sympathetic glance in the mirror. Then she smiles wider. "If anyone can do it, you can."
Zara stands, dusts off her palms, then angles my shoulders so I face myself head-on. "Exactly. Now look. Eat your heart out, Brax O'Malley."
My butterflies have a field day in my gut.
The gown dominates every inch of the reflection. It clings to me as though it were poured onto my torso. The bodice is a sleek slab of obsidian, sculpted to my torso with an unforgiving grip. From the waist down, the skirt erupts into a molten cascade. Charcoal melts into deep ember red, blazing gold, then violent orange. The colors merge and clash with breathtaking drama, each fold shifting with the slightest movement, as though alive. The train behind me ripples across the floor, a fiery tide stretching outward like a living reminder that I'm walking into a ritual that will change everything.
Fiona takes my shoulders and turns me. "Look at the veil!"
It's a black sheet of sheer darkness, edged with painted flames that curl upward as if trying to lick the back of my neck.
"An elemental bride," Zara murmurs, watching me through the mirror.
"Brax is going to flip," Fiona comments.
My pulse picks up. I try to draw a slow breath. The attempt only intensifies the flutters in my stomach that surge up my throat. Panic hits, and I blurt out, "I don't think I can do this."
