I can’t see his face, but his hold tightens on me.
Without letting me go, he reaches for a bottle of shampoo and gets a little on his hand. Indigo magic flows out of him, wrapping around my midsection and holding me up so he can scrub my hair with both hands.
I stare up at him. The two of us are caught between hate and love, and we’ve found a tentative alliance right in between the two. Memnon is doing everything he can to prevent me from hating him again, and I’m doing what I can to not topple headfirst into caring about him.
He tilts my head back to wash off the shampoo.
“Did you see who was attacking Nero?” he asks.
I close my eyes, my nausea rising again at the memory.
“They were all witches, I think. Two of them…” My voice catches. I open my eyes. “Two of them live in my house at Henbane.”
Memnon’s eyes are sharp as he watches me.
“One of them told me that Lia was looking for me.”
The sorcerer’s expression darkens, growing cold and determined.
“I think these witches might’ve been working for her, but I don’t know,” I finish.
It’s quiet for several seconds.
“Do you know the names of these witches?” Memnon finally asks. A chilling ruthlessness has entered his voice.
I hesitate.
“I only know one of their names, and only her first name—Yasmin.”
Memnon’s features smooth, turning placid. That expression is more terrifying than his anger. It’s the face he wears as a warlord.
“Memnon, I don’t want you to hurt her,” I say.
His eyes begin to glow a little as his magic wells. “She sought to kill your familiar. She hurt you. It’s too late for her, est amage. She is borrowing air at this point.”
“She’s a coven sister, and she might be involved in something against her will,” I say.
“I don’t care.” It’s truly that simple for him too. Yasmin hurt me, so now she must die.
“You won’t hurt her,” I order.
The sorcerer’s jaw tightens, and his eyes glow brighter. “Fine.” He bites the word out, and to give him credit, he uses it exactly as I have been using it—to cover an obvious lie.
I reach out and turn off the water, thoroughly worn out by the evening. Memnon uses his magic to call a towel to him. He wraps it around me as another floats over and fits itself around his waist.
The tension in the room once again is thick enough to slice into, only now it’s fueled by frustration, not chemistry. Memnon isn’t used to truly being hemmed in. It seems the bond he forged with me is finally getting to him.
I’ve barely finished drying when the sorcerer’s magic whisks away our towels. He scoops me up then and carries me into the bed, setting me gently on the mattress and tucking me in.
“Do you want something to sleep in?” he asks.
My eyes are already closing. I’m beyond caring. “This is fine.” It’s not like he hasn’t already seen everything.
Memnon moves away from the bed, toward his closet, stalking around the room like a caged panther. It barely registers until he exits the room altogether.
Memnon, I call tiredly down our bond.
Yes, little witch?
Where did you go? I ask.
I’m letting you sleep.
Oh.
Several seconds go by, and I think I drift a little, only to wake feeling agitated.
Memnon?
Yes?
I can’t be sure, but he sounds a little amused.
Will you…come back?
The other side of the bond is quiet, but a minute later, Memnon returns to the room wearing only a low slung pair of sweats. He stands just inside the doorway for several seconds.
I’m half-asleep when I reach for him.
It seems to take another small eternity before he moves to me and takes my hand, threading his fingers between mine.
I blink sleepily at him.
Will you stay with me until I fall asleep? I want to ask him for more, but I’m not brave enough.
Memnon uses his other hand to run his knuckles over my cheek.
Of course, Empress.
He releases my hand and gets on the bed then. I flip over, curling my body toward his.
“Good night, wife,” he murmurs.
“Former wife,” I whisper, correcting him.
“Future wife,” he corrects me.
Sleep presses in, pulling me under. I’m too tired to argue further.
The last thing I sense before I fall asleep is Memnon’s hand running over my wet hair and this sharp, almost agonized love trickling into me from our bond.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I feel the brush of fingers against my hair.
I need to take care of a few things, est amage. I will be back soon.
But perhaps Memnon’s words were just a dream, because when I wake, he’s there, pressing kisses to my skin. Against my throat, at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and down my arm.
I should push him away, but my bond is singing, and the kisses feel like wish fulfillment.
Good morning, future wife, he says when he notices me waking, propping himself on a forearm. He’s still above the sheets, and I don’t know why, but that is disappointing to me. Which is absurd.
I forbid you from calling me that, I say, brushing my tangled hair back from my face.
Good morning, fiancée, he corrects.
That too.
Good morning, my vicious queen who demands the blood of our enemies.
I smile.
Another kiss to my shoulder. You liked that one, he says, noticing.
You know, you’re my enemy too, I remind him.
Then punish me, he demands.
I part my lips, unsure what to say, when a sound like nails on a chalkboard saves me from having to answer. It comes from the other side of the closed bedroom door.
SCRIIIITCH. SCRIIIITCH.
There’s only one creature who makes that noise.
“Nero!” I say excitedly. I didn’t think my panther would be up for a while still. But at the sound of his claws, my heart nearly leaps from my chest.
Before I can scramble out of bed, Memnon’s indigo magic reaches out and opens the door.
Nero walks in silently, and once I see him, I slide out of Memnon’s bed and rush over to my panther, only belatedly realizing I’m still very naked and a little dizzy. I wrap my arms around Nero anyway, who leans into my embrace, nuzzling against my cheek, then giving it an abrasive lick.
“How dare you almost die on me,” I whisper, squeezing him tighter.
He rubs his head against me again, then pulls away. At first, I think it’s because he’s only so touchy-feely with his emotions, but then he pads over to the far side of the bed, where Memnon is, and he places his head on the edge of it.
The sorcerer’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and Memnon reaches out and rubs Nero’s head. “You’re a true warrior,” the sorcerer says gruffly, “You owe me no thanks for healing you.”