Chapter 14
I need to talk to Memnon about last night’s demon attack. Somehow, in all the long hours that passed between when it happened and when the two of us finally went to sleep, we managed to say and do just about everything else.
Now, as I sit up in bed, Memnon’s spot noticeably empty, the events replay themselves in all their terrible, grisly glory.
The demon dragging me from the car, trying and failing to kill the creature, his confession that someone directed him to torture and kill me, and then Memnon taking over and spelling me to sleep.
In the glaring light of a new day, it’s more alarming than ever.
But as I slip out of the bed and grab an outfit to wear—one of Memnon’s shirts and a soft set of his boxers—aromatic smells drift in from the kitchen, already distracting me from my thoughts.
And when I pad down the hall and the stairs, phone in hand, I’m further distracted by Memnon’s new house.
If last night it appeared to be all dark, Gothic romance, then under the bright light of day, it’s full of an extravagant and a regal sort of whimsy, and I don’t know how I’m possibly going to focus on anything but enjoying myself.
I even slide down the banister, just for the sheer delight of it.
When I step into the kitchen, I pause, stumbling back a little.
Spread out on the large central island are all manner of foods in various states of preparation.
And amongst it all is Memnon, who, though shirtless, is still wearing an apron and loosely holding a wooden spoon in his hand.
It would be comical if it wasn’t all so very disarming… and strangely alluring?
Goddess, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, lusting after a man who’s cosplaying as a chef.
“What is all this?” I ask.
Memnon takes a full few seconds to appraise me in his clothes, his expression full of want.
“Memnon?”
His gaze resharpens on mine. “I heard today was a holiday you modern people celebrate. One where you make lots of food and share it.”
My mouth parts.
Thanksgiving.
I’d forgotten. Somehow, amongst everything else, the holiday had slipped my mind.
“I wasn’t really going to share this food with anyone but you,” he continues, “but I have always loved to cook.”
My eyes sweep over the items on the island. “You’re making all of this for Thanksgiving? For us?”
He gives me a speculative look, like he’s not entirely sure what is causing my disbelief. “That is the tradition, correct?”
“Even if it is,” I say, crossing over to him and grabbing the wooden spoon he’s holding to swat his butt with it, “you need to stop.”
“I don’t know what it is you’re talking about, but if you thrash my ass again, I’m bending you over the counter and giving thanks to something else entirely.”
I swat him softly on the cheek with the spoon, causing his eyes to darken in a delicious way. “You need to stop love bombing me. I can’t handle it.”
His brows come together, then smooth. He steps into my space, gently taking the wooden spoon from one of my hands and my phone from the other and setting them aside on the island.
Then he kisses me deeply, tasting like cinnamon and wine.
Wrapping an arm around my waist, he lifts me onto the counter.
“You have your memories of your last life. You know this doesn’t end,” he says, wandering away to grab a bottle of wine. He pours the burgundy liquid into a glass and hands it to me.
It’s eight thirty in the morning. Neither of us has any business drinking wine this early.
But I’ve now nearly gotten eaten by a demon twice, and I’ve survived multiple attempts on my life by nondemonic entities, and the one school that I’ve worked my entire adult life to get into is one more murdered witch away from closing its doors, and now I’m pseudo-living with my sugar-daddy sorcerer who is also pampering me within an inch of my life, and ugh, curse the gods, but it’s working.
I can apparently be bought.
What an awful thought. I definitely think I need to drown it in a little drinky.
I sip on the wine, my stomach fluttering happily when I taste the cinnamon and cloves.
Such a bought woman.
“We never spoke about last night,” Memnon says.
My hand tightens on my drink as I remember the empty look in the demon’s eyes right before it nearly devoured me.
“Is it…alive?”
Memnon gives me a long look. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
The two of us stare at one another for several seconds. In my mind’s eye I can see Memnon on the battlefield, his sword slicing through bodies. I can even remember the cruelties he inflicted on those enemies who took unusual interest in me.
No, I don’t think I want to know what state the demon is in.
Other questions about the incident rise up, such as who Adan Whatever-his-last-name-is and why does he care about my existence.
Before I can ask them, my phone buzzes. Distractedly, I glance at the device where it rests on the counter near me.
My eyes skim over the message that pops onto the screen, and I nearly fall off the island.
I snatch the phone up and tap on it, my horror growing.
Memnon’s gaze flicks from my face to the device, then back up.
Mom
Surprise, we’re back!
We left Europe a few days early because we got homesick, and just in time for Thanksgiving too!
Can you make it over today? I know it’s last minute and you’re busy with school, but Dad can pick you up—unless you now know how to fly by broom.
At the mention of the broom, my mind flashes back in time.
My palms have slickened with sweat, and my grip is sliding off the wooden handle I hang from, and fuck, fuck, fuck—
My fingers slip off the sweat-slickened handle, and I fall—
I shudder as the visceral memory, even as a second message comes in.
Mom
Let me know! Love and miss you, sweet girl.
Memnon steps in close. “What has distressed you, little witch?” he asks, glancing down at the screen. I swear I see his body react as he takes in the message.
I draw in a long breath. “It’s—”
“Your parents.” He says the words with far too much interest.
The sorcerer’s eyes flick up to me. “I want to meet them.”
“Absolutely not.” Dicks will sprout wings before that happens.
“They invited you to Thanksgiving.”
“You’re already making us Thanksgiving.”
“It can wait,” he says with a concerning amount of finality.
“It’s a long drive to Half Moon Bay, especially if there’s traffic.” I’m grasping at excuses.
Memnon steps in so close that I can smell the faintest hints of him. That scent seems to ground me.
The sorcerer places a hand on the side of my face, and he speaks to me the same way he used to speak to skittish horses. “Of all the miracles, you have your parents in this life.” His thumb strokes my skin soothingly. “Let me meet them.”
I shake my head, even as his words worm their way beneath my skin.
Whatever is going on with Memnon and me, it’s both new and fragile… I’m not entirely sure it can withstand the scrutiny of my parents. And for whatever unhinged reason, I guess I want it to withstand it.
“Please, Empress. They are all the family left between us. Let me love them,” he continues, “as you once loved my mother and sister.” The expression he wears is far too intense.
My eyes sting, and my lower jaw trembles. “I know what you’re doing,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“This isn’t some ploy of mine,” he breathes. “This is earnest.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. The ring on my finger feels heavy, but the weight of it feels right.
I draw in a deep breath. Goddess—
“Fine.”
This is such a bad idea.
“But,” I add, “we’re going to leave some things out.” Like Memnon’s penchant for murdering people by the dozen.
He inclines his head. “I will do as you ask.”
I seriously doubt that.
I pick up the phone. Rather than texting my mom back, I call her.
She picks up on the second ring. “Selene!” my mom answers. “Did you get my message?”
“I can make it, but…can I bring a guest?” I ask, eyeing Memnon as he plays with a lock of my hair. “There’s someone I want you and Dad to meet.”