Chapter 10
He’s goingto help me. I don’t have to marry him, and he’s now going to help me.
I exhale a long, relieved breath.
I can tell he badly wants to touch me, hold me. There’s a hollowness in his eyes, and regret is starting to creep into the rest of his features.
Finally, I think he gets it.
He fucked up.
He really, really fucked up.
Memnon rises. He reaches out a hand for me. “I have a lot to tell you, and I think you’ll find your room a more comfortable place to hear it all.”
I take his hand and let him help me up, noting that he holds my hand for a second longer than necessary once I’m on my feet.
“Is it safe to talk about this stuff there?” I’ve been played too many times in the last few weeks not to be paranoid.
“No,” Memnon says. But fortunately for us, he continues down our bond, we can speak of it like this.
Fair point.
I stare at him a little longer, then reluctantly begin walking back toward my residence hall. Memnon sidles up next to me as we hit the tree line.
“I just want you to know that I actually want nothing to do with you ever again,” I say, “and I’m only doing this now?—”
“Because you want my help,” he finishes.
“Because I know you won’t leave me alone,” I correct, “and putting you to work seems better than letting you run wild.” It’s not entirely a lie.
Memnon stays quiet.
“You have nothing to say to that?” I ask as we weave between trees, our shoes crunching over pine needles.
“Oh, I have plenty,” he says.
“Then say it.”
The sorcerer shakes his head, but my words carry their own compulsion. Memnon forces out the admission. “I loathe hearing you say you want nothing to do with me, but after being in your head, I understand it all entirely, so I must eat my feelings on this.
“But yes, I have no interest in letting you go. None at all. So I will help you with these mysteries, though the extra scrutiny may very well place you in more danger, and that means I will likely have to kill more people, and I don’t want to admit that to you because I have a reputation to redeem. And I need to redeem it because I want you to crave me the way I crave you. You are the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, and all the power and glory in the world are useless without you—” His voice breaks off.
Great Goddess’s tits, that’s…a lot to take in.
After a moment, he mutters, “Fuck.”
I think the situation is sinking in for him as well.
“No, no, keep going and tell me how you really feel,” I say sarcastically, though my words ring a little hollow.
Memnon makes a pained noise. “I hurt for all that I lost and how I lost it, and I’m despairing that I will ever get it again. I’m drowning in self-loathing at the moment.”
I glance over at Memnon, my eyes wide, before I realize that though I made a joke, he was forced to take the command literally.
After a moment, the sorcerer groans. “Gods, what have I done?”
Despite the heavy admissions, I smile, just a little. I might actually like Memnon this way. He’s disarming, which is a step up from hateful.
You’re not supposed to like him.
“You are supposed to like me,” Memnon replies. “That is the entire point of being soul mates.”
“Get out of my mind.”
“Est amage, it is you who are in my mind,” he says.
I glance down at my new boots. “You were right last night,” I admit softly. “There is so much about you I don’t know.”
It’s silent for several seconds. Then— “Please don’t make me give another confession. I can hardly stand the thoughts when I say them out loud.”
I swallow a laugh.
“How did you come to live in that house?” I ask as we walk.
“It’s a rental,” Memnon replies.
“How did you get the money to pay for it?” I ask.
“I know you remember my power,” he says. “With a touch and my will, I can get into anyone’s head. I can learn their secrets, such as account and routing numbers. And I can use them to my benefit.”
So he’s been stealing money. It’s not the worst crime he’s committed, so I guess I should curb my horror.
“And how did you learn about bank accounts, routing numbers, passwords?—”
“—and mortgages and the stock market?” Memnon finishes. “I am still figuring out most of these, but once you touch enough minds, the information fills itself out. Assuming, of course, that the minds correctly understand the concepts. I’m pretty sure most people have no idea how the stock market actually works—myself included.”
Ahead of us, the trees thin out, and I can just make out the conservatory and, farther on, my residence hall.
“So you’ve been using your powers to take what you need?” That explains how Memnon learned English so fast.
“I can hear your disapproval, Empress.”
“I don’t disapprove actually,” I say, surprising even myself. But it’s the truth. “You woke two millennia later than when you went to sleep. I’m glad you took care of yourself.”
In the darkness of the woods, I sense Memnon’s eyes on me. He doesn’t say anything, but down our bond, there’s this honeyed softness coming from him. It makes me think of all the parts of us I really don’t want to focus on.
I press my lips together and say nothing else for the rest of the walk back.
As soon as Memnon and I enter the residence hall, the air in the house shifts.
But as we pass my house’s library to our right, a few witches gaze curiously at the sorcerer. He gets more looks from the witches heading to the dining hall and a couple more from coven sisters coming down the staircase.
I glance over at Memnon, struck all over again by his appearance. His bronze skin, his black hair, and that beautiful, unforgiving face are arresting to look at, and that’s saying nothing about his massive stature. He’s built like the warrior he once was, and it shows.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth curving up. His lips part, and he sucks in a breath to speak.
“Whatever you’re about to say,” I warn, “don’t.”
The sorcerer closes his mouth, bound by my order. That doesn’t stop him from continuing to appear highly amused.
When we get to my room, Memnon’s assessing gaze sweeps over the place.
“Where is Nero?” he asks when he sees the empty cat bed.
“Out hunting.” I close the door behind me. “I didn’t name Nero after the emperor,” I confess. It was one of the things Memnon and I argued about weeks ago. “I named him after the era I first found him.”
Romans included the reigning emperor’s name in their dates. I lived and died during Nero’s reign, and though I hadn’t consciously realized that when I gave my familiar his name, I was still unknowingly paying tribute to it.
“I…see.” I sense the frayed edges of Memnon’s guilt all over again. That’s his only tell.
The sorcerer moves to my computer chair and sits down, his legs splaying out. His eyes still look a little haunted, and he’s definitely acting more reserved than usual, but there’s this menacing energy about Memnon that he can never fully shake. I feel as though I caught myself a monster. One who looks at home in this cramped room.
He swivels a little in the seat, peering over the knickknacks on my desk. The action makes me twitchy, and I have to remind myself that I can actually control the man now.
His eyes snag on my keyboard. Abruptly, he stops moving.
“Who wrote this?” His voice is entirely different, low with rage.
He picks up the sticky note with the threatening message, strands of his power snapping and coiling out of him like lunging serpents. When his eyes meet mine, he looks ready to murder somebody. He probably is ready to murder somebody.
“The people who survived the spell circle—I think.”
His eyes begin to glow, just a little. He slides the note into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I say, sitting down on the edge of my bed.
“Saving this note so that I can nail it to their body when I find them.”
Hell’s bells. Involving Memnon is already turning out to be a bad idea. I’m trying to tame a creature far more intense than even my panther.
“Is this note why you wanted my help?” he asks, way too insightful.
There’s no point denying it. I give a sharp nod.
My soul mate leans forward, the tense set of his features making his scar appear extra visible. “I will tell you everything I know about the murders and the spell circle, but, est amage, the knowledge comes at a cost. If I involve you, we run the risk of our enemies discovering our connection—not just that we’re soul mates but also that you now control me. That is…dangerous knowledge to have. It can be used against us. Do you still want my help?”
“I’m already involved. I want to know.”
Memnon bows his head and nods. Which should we focus on first? he says, speaking directly down our connection.
Right. This discussion is a bit too sensitive to be voicing out loud.
I jut my chin toward his pocket, where the threatening note rests. The witches involved in the spell circle. They are the more immediate concern.
Memnon’s eyes begin to glow again. Those glowing eyes, along with rustling hair, are signs a sorcerer is giving in to their power. When that happens, they run the risk of losing hold of their humanity and their control over the power they wield. This is when a sorcerer’s magic truly eats at their conscience.
But just as quickly as my mate’s eyes illuminate, they return to their normal hue.
They entered your room, even with the wards?Memnon asks. His gaze moves to my door.
I nod.
More of Memnon’s magic slithers out of him with my admission. It moves across the room and spreads over the surface of the door, and I’m sure that the sorcerer is setting yet another ward.
About the spell circle,I say down our bond, my gaze wandering to the panther tattoo that’s peeking out from his neck. This is what I know: the circles happen every new moon beneath this house—or at least they used to. I don’t know if they will move them after the shit show that happened last time. The only woman I know by name who was involved in it was Kasey. She was the witch who recruited me to attend the spell circle. Now she’s missing.
Memnon rubs his lower lip, watching me. The night they chased you through the woods, how many were injured?
I shake my head. I don’t know—at least a dozen.
Did anyone die?
I hesitate. At least one. Nero…Nero ripped out one woman’s throat. There might’ve been others as well. I wasn’t paying attention.
Memnon nods. When I went back to exact revenge, all the women—both alive and dead—were gone.Whoever got the dead and injured out of those woods made sure to scrub the area of their blood and any other evidence I might use to hunt them down. They were ready for a counterattack. Whatever is going on, this isn’t just some monthly gathering. They are organized, they have resources, and they know how to make bodies and evidence disappear—and they have access to the persecution tunnels beneath the house.
The thought is nauseating, now that I know these people have gotten through my wards and into my room. The persecution tunnel that leads out from beneath this very building connects to a vast network of subterranean tunnels. No one in this house is entirely safe if the tunnels are being exploited for nefarious purposes.
Memnon threads his fingers loosely together, his forearms resting on his thighs. Why would a well-organized group of supernaturals do their business in the tunnels beneath your coven? he asks down our bond.
I sense he knows the answer to this. I turn inward, thinking about it. The only thing that comes to mind is the most obvious answer, the one I already know.
Most of the members must live here.
Memnon nods. Or they’re trying to recruit witches from your house.
That is what happened to me. I just didn’t go along with it.
Memnon’s eyes flick over me, and though the conversation is a bit dark, a small smile curves his lips.
What?I say through our connection, trying not to notice the lock of hair that’s fallen in front of one of his eyes. I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear.
I like this,he admits.
You like what?
Us, studying our enemies, plotting out our next moves.
I frown, even though my heart speeds up.
The sorcerer stands, rescuing me from the moment. He moves to my door and tilts his head, studying the protective spells.
They shouldn’t have been able to get in here with all these wards in place.Memnon turns back to me. If I told you it wasn’t safe to stay here?—
There is no way I am staying with you in that burnt husk of a house, I say.
If it weren’t burnt?
That would also be a no.
The sorcerer stares at me, eyes narrowed, for a long beat. Then he smiles, like he relishes my anger. Turning back to the door, he murmurs in Sarmatian, “Guard this door against all those who wish Selene harm.”
His indigo power flows out of him, spreading across the door as he adds yet another ward to the growing knot of them. The plumes of his magic condense into lines of what looks like writing. The markings glow as they sink into the frame of the door, then dim until all that remains is the barely perceptible sheen of the spell.
If you want to find out more about the people behind that note, then there’s one place we should definitely explore,Memnon says down our bond. The persecution tunnels.