Chapter 41
When I getto my room, my phone is ringing.
I cross the room and snatch it up from where I left it on my bed.
“Hello?”
“Finally.” Kane’s voice is unnaturally gruff.
Goblin’s tits. I don’t want to talk to this man. I haven’t even begun to sort through my own tangled emotions toward him after last night.
“What’s going on?” he demands.
“What do you mean what’s going on?” I say, gathering together the belongings I’m going to need for the next week.
“Memnon is all over the news.”
“What?”
I rush over to my laptop and wake the device up. As quickly as I can, I log into one of the few supernatural news outlets. On its home page is a grainy photograph of Memnon on the street outside the building I was held in. The angle makes me think it was taken by a security camera. His eyes are glowing, and his hair is partially lifted. The camera couldn’t capture his magic, but it’s obvious it must be spread out around him. The headline reads 33 Dead in Largest Magical Attack of the Year: Killer at Large.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You’re just now hearing about this?” Kane says.
“Hmm?” I’m still distracted by the photo. In it, Memnon’s scar is hard to see, and his tattoos are entirely obscured. But there’s likely more images out there.
“He’s in both the magical and nonmagical news.” Kane pauses, then adds, “Selene, I’ve seen at least one picture of him carrying a woman. Tell me that isn’t you.” His voice has softened. “Tell me after the party, you got home safely—that you’ve been ignoring my calls purely out of anger.”
I draw in a long breath, my heart hammering louder and louder. My gaze returns to the photo.
“Memnon blew his cover saving me,” I admit. “Saving you?” Kane echoes. “What happened to you after you left the party?” In his voice, there’s a note of fear.
“I…I don’t think I can tell you over the phone.”
The line is quiet for a moment.
“Selene, I’m sorry,” Kane finally says. At first I think he’s apologizing for last night, until he adds, “You’re status as friend of the pack will be revoked at the next meeting. We cannot protect the mate of a murderer.”
I tighten my grip on the phone.
It’s just you and your bonds. They are the only ones you can trust.
I push away the thought. What would Roxilana say? Roxilana who lived through the death of her own family, who ruled hard men and women and saw too many battles.
She wouldn’t settle.
“Memnon has been officially accused of nothing,” I say. “Any assumption of guilt on his part is pure hearsay.” I draw in a steadying breath. In a softer tone I add, “Your alpha needs to hear what Memnon and I learned last night.”
“Memnon is not welcome?—”
“I control Memnon.” I ignore the sick twist in my gut that comes with that statement. “I will give him whatever command your alpha would like to feel more at ease, but, Kane, I am asking you, as the future alpha of your pack, to listen to what we have to say.” After a moment, I admit, “I think if we want to take these people down, we’ll need your pack’s help.”
We cannot trust the Politia, and we likely still cannot trust the witches. The shifters might be the last line of help either Memnon or I have.
It’s quiet for a long time.
Kane sighs. “Okay, Selene,” he capitulates. “One last favor for a friend of the pack. Be at the cabin at six p.m. sharp.”
The line clicks before I can thank him.
I blow out a breath, then reach down my bond.
Memnon? I call out to my mate. I arranged a meeting with the lycanthropes at six to tell them what we’ve learned. Before then, I’d like to discuss with you everything we know.
I feel Memnon’s slow smile through our connection, and it makes my lower belly tighten.
Hello, my queen.
My pulse races at the sound of his voice.
I will have to meet you there,he says apologetically, but before then let us chat like this and form a battle strategy.
A battle strategy. I glance at the news article once more and take in Memnon’s grainy form. We do need a strategy.
A shiver of anticipation—and maybe a little foreboding—moves through me. It’s been two thousand years, but I’m finally starting to feel like the queen I once was.