Chapter 25
I feel myself go cold all over.
This is Eislyn’s doing?
My gaze moves over the field once more. I thought I hadn’t underestimated how dangerous the fairy was. But I cataclysmically did, and now there are dozens of supernaturals who lost their lives because of it.
The demon cackles again at my expression.
“You have no idea the things she will do—”
Her voice transforms into a gurgle as indigo magic slices through her neck, and her head topples down her torso before landing in the heap of her limbs.
Through the haze of magic, Memnon comes to me, his eyes alight with that unholy glow again.
He doesn’t bother looking at the demon he just decapitated. His gaze is trained on me, my clothes splattered with black blood, my limbs trembling from pain and exhaustion.
“Eislyn is behind this attack.” The words tumble unceremoniously from my lips.
The sorcerer’s own mouth thins. “I know,” he says grimly.
“You do?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
He gives a solemn nod, his hair still billowing from his magic. “There are only a handful of people who know your Sarmatian name.”
Eislyn being one of them.
And here I assumed the demons learned the name from the Hungering Ones.
Memnon bends down and scoops me up, distracting me from my thoughts.
“I can walk,” I insist. But even to my own ears my voice sounds unsure.
“I don’t care,” he says.
“Can I at least have a piggyback ride so I don’t feel so helpless?” I mean, I did just help imprison a field of demons.
Memnon pauses, those illuminated eyes of his enigmatic. I’m not entirely sure the man even knows what a piggyback ride is. He does, however, set me down.
I circle to the back of him as Nero moves in close to us, and I give a sad, halfhearted leap onto his broad back. Memnon manages to catch me, hoisting me up and locking his arms under my legs.
I wrap my own arms around his neck and hold on to him while he strides across the field, my familiar at his side. I try to ignore the way the sorcerer’s boots squelch as he steps in puddles of blood and mud.
As we cut through Slain Maiden’s Meadow, I notice an upended cauldron and discarded cups. There was revelry here before it was cut violently short. Revelry I might’ve joined in on had Sybil not called me earlier.
My gaze darts away from the cauldron, but I make the horrible mistake of meeting the empty eyes of a blond witch by the name of Savannah who I’ve seen around the house.
Then she’d seemed so expressive and vivacious, but now, her jaw is slack, and her graying skin is speckled with blood.
Her throat and stomach have been ripped open, and entrails coated in dark magic spill from her.
I press my mouth against my arm to stop myself from retching again, but the fetid smell of meat and fresh death seem to have seeped into my very pores.
Memnon tightens his hold on me.
Drawing a deep breath through my nose, I say, “I knew them.”
It’s worse than that though. Some of these witches had likely been bonded against their will just a short while ago. They had what? Two weeks of freedom from those dissolved bonds? They didn’t deserve this.
A tear drips down my cheek. Then another.
“We will avenge them,” Memnon says with great malice.
Malice I can get behind.
I tighten my hold.
Avenging them means finding Eislyn. Finding her and destroying her for good.
For a second time this week, I find myself in the shower with Memnon while his power rides him. This time, however, my husband doesn’t seem nearly as interested in screwing me into oblivion.
No, at the moment, he’s carefully washing me down, despite my many protests.
“I really can do this myself, Memnon,” I say when he kneels at my feet and carefully lifts each one to wash them, forcing me to grip his shoulders to keep my balance.
He doesn’t respond, but when he sets my foot down, his sudsy hands run up my leg, grazing the juncture between them for only the barest instant before continuing up the sides of my torso.
His hands then brush the outsides of my breasts as he rises from the floor.
And his palms only stop when they get to my neck.
Memnon tilts my head, his glowing eyes peering at the juncture between my shoulder and throat.
I swallow, feeling the phantom heat of the demon bite there.
“I haven’t grown fangs, have I?” I joke weakly.
His glowing eyes snap to my lips, and Goddess, but I don’t understand how power can make his eyes look so unnerving, or how, even half dead with fatigue, I can still find them as alluring as I do.
“No fangs,” he murmurs.
I lean forward and bite his shoulder anyway, enjoying how gooseflesh shivers across his skin. His hand comes up and he holds me there, like he enjoys it.
“I do enjoy it,” he says in that unnaturally deep voice.
I smile briefly, but just as quickly it falls away, the horrors of the evening rising up once more. And then I’m tightening my hold on him.
There’s so much I want to say, though it’ll have to wait. When Memnon is consumed by his power like this, he’s less of a let’s-process-our-emotions and more of a burn-it-all-down type.
I pull away from him, though I keep my arms draped over his shoulders as I take him in.
His writhing hair, his glowing eyes, the scar that cuts across his face are all absolutely terrifying, but thank the stars for his power—without it more witches would’ve died and more demons would be running loose.
Maybe it’s that truth, or maybe it’s simply surviving a night when I should’ve died three times over, but a rush of affection washes over me.
“I love you,” I say in a breathy rush.
Memnon’s grip has wandered back down to my torso, and he tightens his hold there, then drags me close.
His gaze moves over my face, searching for something. “This is the worst part of me,” he confesses. It’s a surprising amount of self-reflection, considering how consumed he is by his power at the moment.
I lean in close, trying not to sway with my lightheadedness. When my mouth is a mere hairsbreadth from his, I ask, “What makes you think I don’t love even the worst parts of you?”
He stares at me with those illuminated eyes for a moment longer, and I cannot know what he’s thinking, not even through our connection.
Gently, he takes my chin then and kisses me. I can feel something beneath the pressure of his lips, or maybe I’m sensing it in the bond between us.
Up until now, Memnon has been trying to win me over by showing the best parts of himself.
But he hasn’t been able to hide this power-riddled version of him, and it’s arguably the scariest side of him yet.
But though he can be wildly violent and unpredictable in this state, he has only ever been doting and protective of me.
Memnon pulls away, and I stare up at him, breathless as the darkness at the edges of my vision closes in. My legs give out, but I’m already in the sorcerer’s arms, and it’s easy enough for him to catch me.
Abruptly, Memnon turns off the faucet, and with his magic he beckons forth a towel. The shower door swings open, and he catches the cloth.
Wrapping it around me, he leads me out, his own towel sliding off the rack and wrapping itself around his waist.
He ushers me out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. Nero lifts his head from his plush pet bed, watching us pass by.
Memnon doesn’t leave my side until we approach the closet. Even once we’re there, he reaches in and nabs one of his shirts, tugging it over my head. I feel like a kid both because of his help and because his shirt seems to swallow me up.
“You’re coddling me,” I say over my shoulder to him. “You didn’t used to do this.”
Memnon takes my body in before his glowing eyes rise back to meet mine. “Before, I felt I was too powerful to lose what I loved most. I know better now.”
Before he can manhandle me again, I duck under his arm and head to the bed, sliding in.
My heart races when I realize that despite the newness of this house, being in this room with Memnon feels more like home than the coven does.
A small part of me wants to panic, but a larger part gets a perverse thrill out of it all.
He gets in, that enigmatic gaze of his crawling all over me. There’s no hesitation when he reaches for me and drags me to him.
I love it far more than I should.
I lay my head on his shoulder and lightly trace the tattoos on his chest, watching as his flesh pebbles beneath my touch. I could get high on the hold I have over this man.
Safe…safe…safe… The word echoes across our bond like a chant, and I drift off to the comforting sound of it. When I stir what must be only minutes later, Memnon’s hand is stroking my damp hair. My eyes flutter open, and I notice that finally, finally his eyes have dimmed.
“I love you, Selene,” he says softly.
It is such a simple sentiment, yet the words make me feel like there are butterflies taking flight in my stomach. “I love you too,” I murmur.
He shakes his head. “No, I love you.”
I rouse a little more from sleep, and my brows draw together. I don’t understand the distinction he’s making, not until he elaborates.
“Long ago I told you that every part of me loves you,” he says. There’s an intensity in his eyes, like he needs to get this point across. “I hope you also know that I love every version of you.”
His hand slides from my hair and strokes my cheek.
“You were once Roxi, but you are not her anymore,” he says, searching my features.
“And I love you, Selene. I love you because you are Selene. My vengeful spirit, my fierce queen, my radiant soul mate. I love your humor, your optimism, your loyalty to your friends and your coven. I love how fully you’ve embraced your powers and how setbacks don’t deter you.
I love how much you challenge me and how viciously you once fought me.
And I love your ceaseless inner strength. ”
My pulse is racing at his words. No one speaks about me the way Memnon does. It makes me want to cry and laugh and press myself as close to him as I can get.
“I love how young and carefree you make me feel when I have mostly known the weight of the world,” he says.
“Maybe at first I loved you because I thought you were Roxilana, but as I have come to know you as Selene, I have come to love you for who you are. Unserious, except when you’re very, very scary—or horny. ”
I scoff and give him a playful push on the shoulder, and I’m rewarded with a wicked grin.
Memnon’s smile softens and he continues. “I like your wit. Your humor. I like how even when your memory was impacted by your magic, you didn’t let it stop you from doing the things you loved. I love it that you talk to Nero like he’s a person. Gods, I could go on.”
I swallow as I gaze at him, my heart in my throat.
“The thing is, I am enamored with every little thing about you, Selene, and I will be for the rest of our lives.”
I stroke his face. “Of the two of us, you have always been the poet,” I whisper. “But I’m also sure that all the words in the world would not do you justice, my scary, wonderful soul mate.”
The fatigue from the evening is setting in; I can feel it pulling me deeper into sleep. I force it back, just so I can say what I want to say. “You are everything I never knew to dream for, and it’s my great honor to be your soul mate.”
I see his throat work.
“And, just so you know, I love you for who you are. Not just Memnon the Indomitable, King of the Sarmatians, but Memnon who likes to cook for the sheer whimsy of it, and who grows wildflowers just so he can place them in my hair. Memnon who loves horses like they’re family and who has developed what might be an unhealthy interest in cars. ”
Memnon’s eyes glitter as he takes in my words and my expression.
“I enjoy your humor and your bossiness and your fierce, fierce loyalty. I love how your terrifying mind strategizes and what an absolute nightmare you are to our enemies. But most of all, I love this secret, vulnerable side of yourself that you only share with me. I love all of you and I always will.”
The sorcerer pulls me in then, like he can’t seem to help himself. He kisses me with urgency, as though he needs to press into me exactly what my words mean to him.
I do, he says down our bond.
I smile against him, then nip his lower lip.
Even after the kiss ends, the two of us stay tangled like that. And eventually, that’s how I fall asleep, clutched in the powerful embrace of my soul mate’s arms.