Chapter 2
I stepout into the chilly night air, the door to the Politia station hissing shut behind me. My hair feels limp, my skin is sticky with sweat and blood, and my black gown is torn in a couple places.
I am the picture of defeat.
Memnon steps up next to me, his hand moving to the small of my back. If I am defeat, then he is pure, unadulterated victory.
“So what are your plans for me now?” I ask.
There are, undoubtedly, plans. This is, after all, his night. I’m just along for the ride.
A wisp of blue smoke curls around my midsection like a phantom embrace, and I hear his voice inside me, cruelly intimate.
You and I are going home.
I would wager all the money I have to my name that he doesn’t mean my home. Which means…I get to see his place.
A shiver courses through me. I don’t want to go there, but I’m also perversely curious to see where he’s been living.
“As long as there’s a bed”—I gesture in front of me—“lead the way.”
I’ll rally some sort of revenge plot tomorrow. Right now, however, this is a full-fledged surrender.
Gritty asphalt digs into the pads of my feet as Memnon guides me across the parking lot toward a sports car.
“That’s your car?” Disbelief coats my voice. I knew the man had acquired some money, but not this much. “Just how many heads have you rifled through?” He must be extorting money from people like it’s no one’s business.
His fingers press into my back. “Feisty mate, always believing the worst of me.”
“You’re less disappointing that way.” Well, almost. The bar is constantly lowering itself.
I expect to sense the heat of Memnon’s anger through our bond. Instead, he lets out a loud, amused laugh.
“Est amage, the world can turn and the times can change, but thank the gods, some things remain the same.”
I scowl at him. Not going to address that.
I eye the car. “Do you even know how to drive?”
There’s a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “I speak your language and wear your modern clothing. I own a car and a home, and I have a bank account full of money. What do you think, Empress?”
“I think you stole this car along with a memory or two on how to drive it.”
“Those who hold the power make the rules,” he reminds me, ever the ruthless warlord.
This is what made Memnon move through the ancient world with such ease. Not only was he smart, strong, and unscrupulous, his ability to glean knowledge from others allowed him to assimilate fast.
I just never appreciated how fast until now.
He opens the car door for me. Inside the vehicle, a shadow moves, its amber-green eyes glinting in the darkness.
“Nero.” I all but fling myself onto my familiar, my body draped over the leather bucket seat so I can reach the panther better. We’ve only been apart for a few hours, but I’d been anxious about my furry dude.
He must’ve been anxious about me too because he nuzzles against me awfully intensely for a panther who prides himself on being aloof.
While I’m snuggling my familiar, Memnon neatly tucks my legs into the car and closes my door.
When the sorcerer opens his own door, he inhales sharply.
“Nero,” he growls.
I pull away from my panther, and only now do I notice what my soul mate already has.
Nero has torn apart the inside of this car. The rear seats are in shreds, the foam interior littering what’s left of them. He’s clawed up the back side of the front seats, the leather hanging in ribbons. Even the center console I’m leaning on has been gouged at.
I don’t know how much my panther understands about the situation between me and Memnon, but this feels like a feline fuck you, and I am here for it.
“You are such a good familiar,” I say softly, stroking Nero down his flank while he rubs his head against me. “I’m sorry for leaving you like I did,” I whisper, referring both to this evening and to another, fateful evening long ago, when my familiar and I were forced to part ways.
Nero continues to rub against me, the big cat in an unusually forgiving mood.
I hear Memnon sigh as his magic floods the interior of the car, thickening in the air until I can’t see much beyond Nero’s fur. When it clears, the car’s interior is unblemished once more.
The sorcerer gets in then, folding his massive body into the driver’s seat. Suddenly the space feels very, very small.
I release Nero, letting him resettle into the back seat while I buckle myself in. The engine roars to life, and Memnon smoothly maneuvers his fancy car out of the lot and onto the street.
I guess the sorcerer really can drive.
Leaning my head against the window, I stare tiredly out at the dark night, watching streetlights and shadowy foliage blur by.
“When are you going to marry me?” I ask softly.
I can’t not ask it. Right before I was arrested, Memnon said we were to wed immediately. It’s been hours since we made that unbreakable oath, and I feel like a fish caught on a hook, waiting to be reeled in to my death.
Memnon reaches over and takes my injured hand in his, turning it so my sliced palm is facing up.
“Not tonight, est amage, when you still bear the marks of our battle.”
I release a shuddering breath.
Not tonight.
That’s a relief.
I glance down at the wound from earlier, when I cut my palm with his blade and said my oaths and lifted the curse. The wound has begun to scab, though the flesh around it is red and angry.
“When then?” I press.
Memnon’s fingers graze the cut, his touch whisper soft. A wisp of his magic curls out, brushing against it. Almost instantly, the flesh pulls together and seals itself up until even the seam of the wound fades away.
“Look at me, Selene.” It’s a command, yet all I hear is a plea. Memnon wants connection, reassurance. This was his grand plan after all. He couldn’t resurrect the past, but he could at least draw forth my memories of it. I suppose, at the heart of all the sorcerer’s vengeance, he simply wanted to feel less lonely.
My gaze reluctantly moves to his. He’s torn his own attention briefly from the road ahead of us.
“It doesn’t matter when we marry, little witch.” He squeezes my freshly healed hand. “Neither magic nor time can keep us apart.” His eyes are luminous. “We are like the stars. Eternal.”
I mean to stay awake. I have every intention of noting the streets that lead to Memnon’s place and then every detail of the house itself. But the winding roads that cut through the mountains north of San Francisco rock me gently, the clock says it’s after three in the morning, and my fatigue is overwhelming me. It might even be that despite my hate for Memnon, something deep in me is supremely comforted at being in the car with him and my familiar.
Whatever the case, I make it maybe three miles before my eyelids start drifting shut and another mile before I close them for good.
I stir twice more—once to the feel of my body being gathered into strong, warm arms and again when I’m placed on a soft mattress and tucked in.
Memnon’s voice echoes inside me as I slip off to sleep.
Be at ease, fierce queen. You don’t have to fight any longer. You are safe with me.