Chapter 37
The drive from Henbane is several different shades of awful. Memnon and I wear the blood of my coven sisters like war paint, my hands still shake, and I swear I can still hear the wet cries of witches echoing in my ears. That’s the final memory of my coven sisters I have to leave with.
I crane my neck over my shoulder, looking past Nero who lazes in the back to catch a glimpse of my father’s car, which trails ours.
He’s barely steady enough to drive, and the only reason he’s not in our vehicle right now is because we’re required to exit campus with all our belongings—including cars.
Beyond my dad’s SUV, I take in Henbane, with its glittering conservatory on one end and its domed observatory on the other. My heart lurches at the parting glimpse of it all. I didn’t know hearts could break over things as seemingly mundane as a school closing. But I do feel shattered.
Behind the wheel, Memnon is a storm cloud, his emotions roiling ever since we left Henbane. Eislyn was his great downfall, the one his pride never saw coming. And here she is again, wreaking havoc on our lives and proving all over again that Memnon’s power is nothing compared to hers.
We eventually turn onto the long driveway that leads to our house. As soon as the whimsical home comes into view, warmth spreads low in my belly. I hate that Henbane has closed, but as far as silver linings go, I do really like it here.
Memnon parks the car and hops out. I’ve only managed to undo my seat belt when the passenger door opens, and my sorcerer grabs the couple spare notebooks resting on my lap and tucks them under his arm before reaching for me. The nice gesture, however, is ruined when Nero barges his way between us.
I grunt as my panther steps across my lap and then whacks me with his tail as he leaps out.
Cats, man.
He disappears into the shadows around our house, leaving me to stare after him.
I rip my gaze away to look at Memnon. “He’s sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight.”
The sorcerer looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and I swear I hear the stray word pussy float through my thoughts, and I’m pretty sure he just made a dirty joke and I missed it entirely.
My father’s SUV rolls up then, pulling in next to us. His engine cuts off, and his door opens.
Even with only the house’s soft outdoor lighting to illuminate us, I can tell that my father is still shaking. He shuts the door to his car, walks right up to me, and envelops me in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Selene,” he whispers. “We should’ve come back to the States sooner, should’ve gotten you out of there sooner—” His voice breaks, and it’s me who begins rubbing his back.
“It’s okay, Dad. You moved me out today, so you don’t have to worry about anything else happening.”
I don’t elaborate on the fact that more things will in fact happen since the attack wasn’t about Henbane, it was about me.
But my poor, sweet father’s heart can only take so much.
“Will you be safe here?” he asks, sniffling as he pulls away. “You know you both can stay with us.”
And bring Eislyn’s wrath upon my parents?
Goddess no.
“I’ll be safe here, Dad,” I promise.
He nods, hanging his head a little.
Memnon steps in then and places a hand on my father’s back. “Let me show you the wards and enchantments I’ve placed about the property and the house, and if you’d like, you can add to them.”
My dad draws in a deep breath through his nose. “I’d like that.”
And that’s how the two of them spend the next thirty minutes, moving about the house and the perimeter of the property, Memnon pointing out where he’s placed his protective spells.
I tear up when I see my dad’s spring-green magic billow out of him and spread across the sky like a film before settling into his own ward.
After that, my dad comes inside, and I make all of us hot chocolates with whipped cream and sprinkles. Which, side note, Memnon must’ve shopped for all these ingredients at some point, and that visual tickles me to no end.
My husband takes a few sips of the drink and winces deeply. His gaze lifts, and he gives me a long, arch look. I lament the fact that I can’t hear whatever ridiculous opinions he has about hot chocolate right now. And whipped cream. And sprinkles.
Unlike Memnon, my dad and I happily drink our hot chocolates and chat. Slowly, my dad’s trembling turns into leg bouncing. Then even that settles.
By the time he’s ready to go, he’s not looking so unsettled. That doesn’t stop him, however, from giving me another tight hug on his way out, holding on for a couple extra seconds like I might evaporate away through his arms.
“I love you, Booger,” he says. “And I’m so proud of how you helped your coven sisters tonight. That’s a skill that can’t be taught.” He releases me and points to Memnon. “And that man right there, he’s a keeper.”
“You mean because he’s a billionaire?” I ask innocently.
Memnon flashes me another look, and this time I do hear a scrap of his thoughts as he narrows his eyes and smirks at me.
…spank…
I try not to appear too excited.
My dad guffaws, unaware of what’s happening between me and his son-in-law. “I’m not going to complain about that.” He clears his throat and leans in a little. “Don’t tell your mother I said that.”
He steps away from me and pulls Memnon in for a hug. “You healed many people tonight as well. And the way you speak of my daughter when she isn’t in the room.” He nods. “It says a lot.”
I swear Memnon holds my dad tighter, and my own emotions well up in me. My sweet, Golden Retriever father is leveling my husband in the best way.
Memnon’s own father, Ilyapa, was a man Memnon strived to make proud. And when Memnon lost him, it was a gaping wound.
So to have my dad come in and accept Memnon and fawn over him—my overgrown warlord soul mate has no defense against it.
“Call anytime—come over anytime,” my dad says, breaking away from the hold.
Memnon nods, his throat working. I dimly sense the rawness of his emotions even after we watch my dad drive away and reenter the house.
I take a good look at us, then I make a beeline for the house’s fancy wine room. I probably should’ve grabbed the wine while my dad was still here, but whatever. I’ll save inebriation for the people not on the road tonight.
Memnon follows me, and I can almost feel his piqued curiosity at my movements.
I step into the wine room, the air in here cooler than the rest of the house. There aren’t many bottles on the racks, but I suppose it makes no difference. They all seem indistinguishable to me. I can sense Memnon’s eyes on me as I peer at the various wines.
“Looking for something in particular?”
“I want something that tastes like the blood of our enemies,” I say.
“Ah.” Memnon steps up to my side. “I haven’t bottled that yet.”
He taps on the necks of various bottles. “This one will taste like memories. This one, longing.” Memnon gives me a mirthful look then continues on with the bit. “This one will taste like fondness, and this one forgetting. And I have a feeling this one”—he taps on the neck of it—“is all bitter.”
He drops his hand, his eyes moving over the racks. “I don’t have any for anger or wrath, but—” Memnon moves to another section of the room. “This one tastes like hope.”
The sorcerer looks at me, an eyebrow arched.
It’s not nearly so tortured a drink as the blood of our enemies, but I nod.
I could use some hope.
I hear the scrape of glass on wood as he pulls the bottle out, and it’s champagne. I can’t be sure, but it might even be the same champagne we drank on our wedding day.
Warmth pools low in my belly at the thought.
Together we leave the room. A wisp of Memnon’s magic crosses the vast kitchen, pulling two stemmed glasses from one of the cupboards. Another arm of his magic uncorks the bottle.
A small smile dances on my face as I watch him—the way the muscles in his forearms move beneath his skin as he pours our drinks, the lock of hair that falls rakishly over an eye.
I reach out and tuck the hair behind his ear. His bourbon eyes rise to mine slowly, and he looks like he’s going to devour me, like he won’t stop until every bit of me has touched every bit of him.
My breath catches at the look.
“So godsdamned lovely,” he whispers. His voice grows.
“More than the way sunlight hits the water or the sight of fresh snow along the steppe.” He passes me the glass of champagne and takes my other hand in his.
“Come sit with me under the stars, est amage. I want to see the way the firelight dances in your eyes again.”
I have no defense against Memnon when he’s like this, so I let him lead me out of our house and onto the back porch, where a firepit rests, encircled by a set of chairs and couches.
Out here, the air is biting and damp, and my breath mists as it exits my nose. Memnon sets his wineglass and the accompanying bottle down and reaches for me, his magic gathering in his palm.
I know he means to place a warming spell on me, one that might not even work.
I shake my head. “I want to feel the night around me.” Maybe it’s the witch in me, or maybe it’s the memory of all those far-off nights when the wind blew cold and the fire blazed hot. It’s a deep, almost instinctual memory, and I want to feel it again now.
“Besides,” I add. “I have this,” I say, lifting my glass of champagne.
“And you have me,” he adds, releasing a bit of his magic to start the fire.
I don’t know if I set my glass down or Memnon does, just that it’s out of my hand right as Memnon is stepping into my arms, the fire backlighting him.
He cups my jaw and tilts my face, his gaze tracking my features as, I imagine, the firelight plays along it. Just like he wanted..
“My lovely queen,” he murmurs, “who first called out to me when we were kingdoms apart.” His attention never strays from me.
“You who saved me, died for me. Waited eons for me so we could exist in this moment,” His thumb indolently strokes my cheek.
“You are every hope, every joy, my deepest truth and sharpest yearning. Every breath I breathe is yours. I am yours. Forever.”
My palms slide up his scarred forearms, bits of ink curving around them. Even without the gold adornments he’s so fond of, Memnon could never be mistaken for a modern man. He has a striking, sharp-edged look that belongs solely to the wilds of the ancient world.
I swallow. I’m done shying away from these moments. “And you are mine,” I breathe. “Forever.”
He has been mine since before I knew who he was. We had an epic love story, one that was cut short. One I gave my life to resume. And here it is before me. Messy and imperfect but still ours.
“Te amo in aeternum,” I say. “You are mine forever.”