21. Malrec
MALREC
Istand in Damiros's receiving hall, hands clasped behind my back to hide their tremor.
Not from fear—from rage so potent it requires physical constraint to prevent destruction.
The space around me reflects my brother's aesthetic perfectly: clean lines, polished obsidian, strategic lighting that casts no harsh shadows.
Everything controlled. Everything deliberate.
Everything false.
Three days ago, I held Lenna in my arms and remembered everything.
The memories didn't return gradually or gently—they crashed through my mind like a tidal surge breaching containment wards.
Months of stolen moments, conversations, touches, promises.
Months of falling in love with someone I was never supposed to want. Months erased like they never existed.
Except they did exist. And someone made sure we forgot.
The door opens behind me. I don't turn immediately, letting Damiros enter his own space while I continue to examine the room as though seeing it for the first time.
Which, in a way, I am. I remember being here before—remember Damiros expressing concern about my "attachment" to a human laborer, remember his suggestions that I reconsider my choices.
At the time, his warnings felt like brotherly care.
Now I know better.
"Malrec." His voice carries its usual measured warmth. "I didn't expect you. Is everything well at the estate?"
I turn slowly, studying my brother's face.
He's composed as always, posture relaxed, expression open and mildly curious.
Nothing in his bearing suggests guilt or concern.
If I hadn't remembered everything, if Lenna and I were still trapped in that horrible liminal space of half-recognition and fractured dreams, I might believe this performance.
"Lenna and I got our memories back."
The words land between us like dropped stone. For just a fraction of a second—so brief I might have imagined it if I weren't watching specifically for it—something flickers across Damiros's face. Not quite fear. Not quite resignation. Something closer to calculation.
Then it's gone, replaced by carefully constructed confusion. "Your memories? Mal, I don't understand what you—"
"Don't." The word comes out harder than I intend, sharp enough that Damiros actually takes a small step backward. "Don't insult me by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."
"I genuinely don't know what—"
"A year ago, I brought a human named Lenna Fentris to the estate.
" My voice remains level through sheer force of will.
"She worked in the stables. We fell in love.
We were planning to complete a mate bond.
" I pause, watching his face. "And then one morning, we both woke up with no memory of each other.
She was gone from the estate, reassigned through channels I didn't authorize.
I went back to my normal routine like she'd never existed.
Until the slave company sent her back here, and suddenly my life became impossible because every instinct I have was screaming that something was wrong. "
Damiros's expression shifts toward concern, but it feels rehearsed. Like he's deciding which reaction will serve him best. "That's—Mal, that's not possible. Memory manipulation of that scale would require incredibly powerful magic, and—"
"Stop lying to me." I take a step forward.
Then another. Damiros holds his ground but tension creeps into his shoulders.
"I remember everything now. Every conversation we had where you told me I was making a mistake.
Every warning about the 'complications' of mating a human.
Every suggestion that I end things before they went too far.
" My hands unclench from behind my back, fingers flexing at my sides.
"I remember the last time I saw you before the memories disappeared.
You came to the estate. You seemed upset.
And the next morning, she was gone and I couldn't remember why she mattered. "
"You're mistaken about my involvement—"
"Am I?" I'm close enough now that he has to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact.
"Then explain why you looked like you'd seen a ghost when you first encountered Lenna in the stables.
Explain why you were so insistent I remove her from my household.
Explain why you kept trying to convince me to send her away. "
His jaw tightens minutely. "Because she was disrupting your work. The beasts were responding to her instead of you, and—"
"And you were afraid the bond would reassert itself.
" The pieces fall into place with sickening clarity.
"You knew what we were to each other. You saw her and realized your spell or curse or whatever the fuck you did was starting to fail.
That's why you wanted her gone. You were trying to prevent exactly what happened. "
Damiros's mask finally cracks. Not much—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tightening around his mouth that suggests I've hit close enough to truth that denials won't hold. "Malrec, you need to calm down and think rationally about—"
I move without conscious decision, closing the remaining distance and slamming my palm against the wall beside his head.
The impact echoes through the hall. Damiros flinches but doesn't retreat further, probably because there's nowhere left to go.
"Tell me the truth. Now. Or I swear by the Seven I will tear this place apart until I find evidence of what you did. "
For a long moment, he just stares at me. Something works behind his eyes—some internal debate about whether continued denial serves him better than confession. Finally, his shoulders drop fractionally and his expression shifts into something harder. More honest.
More ugly.
"Fine." The word is clipped. "Yes. I arranged for your memories to be bound. Both of yours."
Hearing him admit it still hits like physical force. Part of me was hoping I was wrong, that there was some other explanation, that my own brother wouldn't betray me this fundamentally. But no. He actually did this. "Why?"
"Because you wouldn't listen to reason." His voice gains strength, anger bleeding into it now.
"I tried to talk to you, Mal. Multiple times.
I explained the complications, the social ramifications, the political fallout of a high-ranking demon mating a human.
You didn't care. You just kept insisting she was worth it, that you loved her, that nothing else mattered.
" He shakes his head sharply. "You were going to throw away your entire future for a human who would age and die in a fraction of your lifespan.
A human who has no status, no power, nothing to offer House Virex except—"
"Everything that actually matters." My free hand curls into a fist against the stone. "She offered me everything that actually matters, and you took her from me."
"I saved you from a catastrophic mistake." His eyes burn with self-righteous conviction. "You were so consumed by this—this infatuation that you couldn't see clearly. Someone had to protect you from yourself."
"Protect me." The words taste like ash. "You call stealing months of my life protecting me? You call making us both suffer through partial recognitions and fractured dreams and longing we couldn't understand—you call that protection?"
"I call it necessary intervention." He doesn't back down, doesn't show remorse.
"And it would have worked if the slave company hadn't sent her back here.
I had no idea she'd been reassigned to the estate.
That was poor oversight on my part, admittedly.
But by then the damage was done. The proximity was enough to start weakening the bindings. "
I remember those early days after Lenna arrived.
The inexplicable hostility I felt toward her.
The way Azhrael responded to her presence.
The dreams that felt too vivid, too real.
My entire system was fighting against the magical restraints, trying to remember what had been taken.
"How did you even do this? Memory binding of this scale—"
"A kal'galan sorcerer." He says it matter-of-factly, like he's discussing hiring someone to repair stonework. "They specialize in blood magic and consciousness manipulation. Very expensive, very discreet. I paid them well to ensure the work was thorough."
Blood magic. Outlawed in even the darkest corners of Ikoth for good reason. My brother went to a kal'galan sorcerer—the kind of demon that most of our race considers abomination—to erase me. "You used illegal magic. On your own brother."
"I used the tools available to solve a problem.
" No apology. No shame. Just cold practicality.
"The binding was supposed to be permanent as long as you maintained distance from each other.
Physical and emotional proximity weakens this type of spell, but under normal circumstances, you'd never see her again.
She'd have been reassigned to some other household across Ikoth and you'd both have moved on with your lives. "
"Moved on." I pull back slightly, needing space before I do something irreversible. "You genuinely believe we would have just moved on. That what we felt for each other was so shallow it could be erased and forgotten."
"I believed the magic would hold." His expression hardens.
"And it should have. The sorcerer assured me the binding was absolute.
But clearly your bond was stronger than anticipated.
When you got close to her again, when you started spending time together, the spell began to fracture.
The dreams were the first sign—suppressed memories bleeding through during sleep when conscious defenses were weakened. "