Chapter 24
Once the darkmagic is out of my system, Memnon sets to healing me. His hands press against my stomach, his magic moving through every limb.
“You were with the shifters tonight,” he states.
I swallow delicately, already knowing I’m going to hate the conversation.
“How is it that on the very night you met with an entire pack, you and your familiar manage to get severely injured?”
Memnon makes it sound like they were involved.
“It wasn’t their fault,” I say. “Nero and the shifters didn’t get along, so my panther left the meeting to hunt in the woods. It was there that the witches cornered him.”
“The lycans must’ve been aware of the attack—I heard their howls. Why weren’t they there fighting off the witches?” Memnon says.
Down our bond, I feel the breadth of his anger.
There’s only one explanation that makes sense to me, not that it makes me feel any less wounded.
“Shifters cannot cross into witch territory without permission,” I say.
Memnon scowls. “That pup crossed easily enough the night I found him in your bed weeks ago.”
I give Memnon a look. “His name is Kane, and I gave him permission then.”
“And you didn’t tonight?” Memnon presses. “I would assume that permission was implied.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. In fact, the longer I sit with what he’s saying, the more uneasy I feel. I am a friend of the pack, but where was that friendship thirty minutes ago?
The sorcerer continues. “It seems to me that Kane and the rest of his pack are so worried about following the rules that they let evil slip through their fingers in the name of them.” Memnon leans forward as the last of my wounds pull together under his magic. “Call me a monster, call me a devil, but you and I both know I will fucking shatter the rules for you.” He stares at me fervently. “Always for you.”
My gaze dips to his lips as my pulse begins to race. Memnon’s right; for all his faults, he would do anything, give anything, for me. And at one point in time, I did the same for him. That’s why the two of us exist at all in this future—I sold my last life to some buried god for the chance to sit here in this room with him.
The air feels thick with tension as the moment draws on.
Memnon leans back on his haunches then, breaking the tension as he removes his hands from my stomach.
“Your wounds are all healed, est amage, though like Nero, you’ll be a little lightheaded from blood loss. You’ll need to take it easy.”
My eyes flitter around the room. I’m staying here tonight, I realize. I guess it was assumed from the moment Memnon carted Nero and I away from the forest, but only now is it truly setting in. I’m staying here, after a measly few days back at my residence hall.
The defeat stings a lot less than I thought it would.
I go to stand, and the edges of my vision darken.
Memnon is at my side in an instant.
“I’m fine.”
The sorcerer gives a malevolent laugh. “I’m understanding that phrase better and better every time you use it.”
I give him a weary look. “I just want a hot shower.”
“You’ll likely pass out from the heat,” he says, looking apologetic.
“Then I’ll have a hot bath,” I say.
“You might still pass out.”
I want to growl my frustration. “Then come in with me and make sure I don’t.”
Memnon’s eyes widen.
Exhausted though I am, I nearly laugh. For a scheming sorcerer, he looks awfully surprised.
That’s a command, I add. My skin itches with the feel of dirt and dried blood, and now that I’ve seen the dark magic ooze out of me, I need to scrub away the memory of it too.
“All right, Empress,” he says, his expression unreadable.
Memnon helps me down the hallway and into his bathroom. I hadn’t realized how fatigued I was, but I need the help. Even with his arm around me, I’m still breathing heavy by the time the two of us get there.
“Shower or bath?” he asks, still holding me.
Both the tub and the glass shower stall could easily fit us both.
“Which would be easier for you?”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter what I want. Shower or bath?”
“I like showers better?—”
Memnon’s magic slips past the glass door of the shower and turns the spigot on.
“—but I’m not sure how long I want to stand,” I confess.
“Then you can sit in the shower, or I can hold you.”
I glance up at him, feeling unusually vulnerable. I don’t know why. Memnon has fought alongside me, he’s been inside me, he’s seen me naked and tended to me. None of it is new. No part of us is new.
“Okay,” I agree.
Memnon’s blue magic encircles us, peeling away our ruined clothes. I hear my phone thump to the ground, along with the soft sounds of my shredded jeans and shirt.
“Wait,” I say, bending down to grab the phone while several of Memnon’s daggers clatter to the ground alongside his clothes.
I straighten and hastily text my mom I’m alive before dropping the device back to the tiled floor. I don’t need her fretting about me on top of everything else right now.
The sorcerer’s magic pulls the shower door open, and he helps me in. Immediately the shower spray rinses away the most obvious grime that’s on me, and Goddess but does it feel good. Under the heat of the spray, my muscles loosen.
I swivel around, leaning against the stone wall of the shower stall, and take in Memnon. He stands close, ready to catch me if I fall. The water has already hit his hair and speckled his face. Rivulets of it trail down his sculpted chest, and my eyes follow their path, taking in the tattoos that I used to doodle into my notebooks—bits of him that my mind never forgot.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he breathes, grabbing a nearby bar of soap and rolling it between his hands.
“Like what?” I say dazedly, leaning more heavily against the wall.
“Like you want a repeat of last night.”
The heat is making me dizzy. “You don’t?” I ask.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. Louder, he says, “Of course I do. But not when you’re half dead and delirious from blood loss.”
“I’m not delirious,” I say, even as I sway.
Memnon steps into the last of my personal space and takes one of my arms. He focuses on scrubbing up and down it. “You are,” he insists. “Besides,” he adds, moving to my other arm, “I got the impression I was in your bed yesterday because of a potion and nothing more.”
I frown, not liking how my reasons sound coming out of his lips. Especially not after Memnon helped me this evening. I hadn’t commanded him to come, and I didn’t need some fancy friendship pact for him to show up. It’s just what Memnon does for me, what he’s always done for me.
He continues washing my body, the strokes of his hands decidedly not sexual, even as they move over my torso.
“It’s annoying when you’re honorable,” I say.
He grabs more soap, then kneels down to wash my legs.
“Why is that?”
The steam is getting to me. I feel lightheaded, nauseous.
“It makes it harder to hate you,” I confess.
Memnon glances up from where he kneels, the water slicking his hair back. I reach out for his face just as I sway again.
“Selene—”
My vision darkens. When it clears again, I’m in the sorcerer’s arms, and the water is cooling.
“Did I pass out?” I ask, my torso pressed against his. I’m about eye level with his pecs, and I get an intimate view of the dragon tattoo over his heart.
“I caught you,” he says, keeping me upright.
I draw my gaze up, meeting his eyes. His hands stay on me, and though I don’t necessarily need the continued support, I don’t move out of his embrace. I think we’re both fooling ourselves about how weak I am until I begin to shiver.
“Shit.” Memnon uses one hand to pull me in closer to him and the other to nudge up the temperature until it’s lukewarm.
Still, my shivers don’t fully abate.
“I want to get you out of here,” he says, frowning. “You’re still lightheaded.”
His fretting is disarming.
“Just a little longer,” I insist. I still feel like I have dirt in my hair and dark magic on my skin. I press my cheek against his chest. “I trust you to keep me safe.”
I can’t see his face, but his hold tightens on me.
Without letting me go, he reaches for a bottle of shampoo and gets a little on his hand. Indigo magic flows out of him, wrapping around my midsection and holding me up so he can scrub my hair with both hands.
I stare up at him. The two of us are caught between hate and love, and we’ve found a tentative alliance right in between the two. Memnon is doing everything he can to prevent me from hating him again, and I’m doing what I can to not topple headfirst into caring about him.
He tilts my head back to wash off the shampoo.
“Did you see who was attacking Nero?” he asks.
I close my eyes, my nausea rising again at the memory.
“They were all witches, I think. Two of them…” My voice catches. I open my eyes. “Two of them live in my house at Henbane.”
Memnon’s eyes are sharp as he watches me.
“One of them told me that Lia was looking for me.”
The sorcerer’s expression darkens, growing cold and determined.
“I think these witches might’ve been working for her, but I don’t know,” I finish.
It’s quiet for several seconds.
“Do you know the names of these witches?” Memnon finally asks. A chilling ruthlessness has entered his voice.
I hesitate.
“I only know one of their names, and only her first name—Yasmin.”
Memnon’s features smooth, turning placid. That expression is more terrifying than his anger. It’s the face he wears as a warlord.
“Memnon, I don’t want you to hurt her,” I say.
His eyes begin to glow a little as his magic wells. “She sought to kill your familiar. She hurt you. It’s too late for her, est amage. She is borrowing air at this point.”
“She’s a coven sister, and she might be involved in something against her will,” I say.
“I don’t care.” It’s truly that simple for him too. Yasmin hurt me, so now she must die.
“You won’t hurt her,” I order.
The sorcerer’s jaw tightens, and his eyes glow brighter. “Fine.” He bites the word out, and to give him credit, he uses it exactly as I have been using it—to cover an obvious lie.
I reach out and turn off the water, thoroughly worn out by the evening. Memnon uses his magic to call a towel to him. He wraps it around me as another floats over and fits itself around his waist.
The tension in the room once again is thick enough to slice into, only now it’s fueled by frustration, not chemistry. Memnon isn’t used to truly being hemmed in. It seems the bond he forged with me is finally getting to him.
I’ve barely finished drying when the sorcerer’s magic whisks away our towels. He scoops me up then and carries me into the bed, setting me gently on the mattress and tucking me in.
“Do you want something to sleep in?” he asks.
My eyes are already closing. I’m beyond caring. “This is fine.” It’s not like he hasn’t already seen everything.
Memnon moves away from the bed, toward his closet, stalking around the room like a caged panther. It barely registers until he exits the room altogether.
Memnon, I call tiredly down our bond.
Yes, little witch?
Where did you go?I ask.
I’m letting you sleep.
Oh.
Several seconds go by, and I think I drift a little, only to wake feeling agitated.
Memnon?
Yes?
I can’t be sure, but he sounds a little amused.
Will you…come back?
The other side of the bond is quiet, but a minute later, Memnon returns to the room wearing only a low slung pair of sweats. He stands just inside the doorway for several seconds.
I’m half-asleep when I reach for him.
It seems to take another small eternity before he moves to me and takes my hand, threading his fingers between mine.
I blink sleepily at him.
Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?I want to ask him for more, but I’m not brave enough.
Memnon uses his other hand to run his knuckles over my cheek.
Of course, Empress.
He releases my hand and gets on the bed then. I flip over, curling my body toward his.
“Good night, wife,” he murmurs.
“Former wife,” I whisper, correcting him.
“Future wife,” he corrects me.
Sleep presses in, pulling me under. I’m too tired to argue further.
The last thing I sense before I fall asleep is Memnon’s hand running over my wet hair and this sharp, almost agonized love trickling into me from our bond.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I feel the brush of fingers against my hair.
I need to take care of a few things, est amage. I will be back soon.
But perhaps Memnon’s words were just a dream, because when I wake, he’s there, pressing kisses to my skin. Against my throat, at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and down my arm.
I should push him away, but my bond is singing, and the kisses feel like wish fulfillment.
Good morning, future wife,he says when he notices me waking, propping himself on a forearm. He’s still above the sheets, and I don’t know why, but that is disappointing to me. Which is absurd.
I forbid you from calling me that, I say, brushing my tangled hair back from my face.
Good morning, fiancée, he corrects.
That too.
Good morning, my vicious queen who demands the blood of our enemies.
I smile.
Another kiss to my shoulder. You liked that one, he says, noticing.
You know, you’re my enemy too, I remind him.
Then punish me,he demands.
I part my lips, unsure what to say, when a sound like nails on a chalkboard saves me from having to answer. It comes from the other side of the closed bedroom door.
SCRIIIITCH. SCRIIIITCH.
There’s only one creature who makes that noise.
“Nero!” I say excitedly. I didn’t think my panther would be up for a while still. But at the sound of his claws, my heart nearly leaps from my chest.
Before I can scramble out of bed, Memnon’s indigo magic reaches out and opens the door.
Nero walks in silently, and once I see him, I slide out of Memnon’s bed and rush over to my panther, only belatedly realizing I’m still very naked and a little dizzy. I wrap my arms around Nero anyway, who leans into my embrace, nuzzling against my cheek, then giving it an abrasive lick.
“How dare you almost die on me,” I whisper, squeezing him tighter.
He rubs his head against me again, then pulls away. At first, I think it’s because he’s only so touchy-feely with his emotions, but then he pads over to the far side of the bed, where Memnon is, and he places his head on the edge of it.
The sorcerer’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and Memnon reaches out and rubs Nero’s head. “You’re a true warrior,” the sorcerer says gruffly, “You owe me no thanks for healing you.”
Ah, fuck. This man is definitely going to make me fall for him.
Memnon glances at me, a small smile on his lips. That’s my deepest hope, my queen.