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.”