He’s gone quiet, but his eyes are cutting like daggers.

“I want you to help me learn everything I can about both the murders and those spell circles, and I want you to help me stop them both.”

There’s a certain poetic justice to the idea of Memnon, who drove me into all this misfortune, now helping me resolve it.

Once I’ve said my piece, I wait. If Memnon were anyone else, I know he’d scoff at me. I’m no detective, and even if I were, these are no ordinary mysteries.

To Memnon, however, I’m more than just Selene, Henbane student with prior memory issues. I’m also Roxilana, queen of a nation of warriors, co-ruler of an empire. Inserting myself into deadly business comes naturally to me. Almost as naturally as it does to Memnon.

A bloodthirsty, pleased look spreads across his face. “I can do that, my queen.”

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CHAPTER 10

He’s going to help me. I don’t have to marry him, and he’s now going to help me.

I exhale a long, relieved breath.

I can tell he badly wants to touch me, hold me. There’s a hollowness in his eyes, and regret is starting to creep into the rest of his features.

Finally, I think he gets it.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

Memnon rises. He reaches out a hand for me. “I have a lot to tell you, and I think you’ll find your room a more comfortable place to hear it all.”

I take his hand and let him help me up, noting that he holds my hand for a second longer than necessary once I’m on my feet.

“Is it safe to talk about this stuff there?” I’ve been played too many times in the last few weeks not to be paranoid.

“No,” Memnon says. But fortunately for us, he continues down our bond, we can speak of it like this.

Fair point.

I stare at him a little longer, then reluctantly begin walking back toward my residence hall. Memnon sidles up next to me as we hit the tree line.

“I just want you to know that I actually want nothing to do with you ever again,” I say, “and I’m only doing this now⁠—”

“Because you want my help,” he finishes.

“Because I know you won’t leave me alone,” I correct, “and putting you to work seems better than letting you run wild.” It’s not entirely a lie.

Memnon stays quiet.

“You have nothing to say to that?” I ask as we weave between trees, our shoes crunching over pine needles.

“Oh, I have plenty,” he says.

“Then say it.”

The sorcerer shakes his head, but my words carry their own compulsion. Memnon forces out the admission. “I loathe hearing you say you want nothing to do with me, but after being in your head, I understand it all entirely, so I must eat my feelings on this.

“But yes, I have no interest in letting you go. None at all. So I will help you with these mysteries, though the extra scrutiny may very well place you in more danger, and that means I will likely have to kill more people, and I don’t want to admit that to you because I have a reputation to redeem. And I need to redeem it because I want you to crave me the way I crave you. You are the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, and all the power and glory in the world are useless without you—” His voice breaks off.

Great Goddess’s tits, that’s…a lot to take in.

After a moment, he mutters, “Fuck.”

I think the situation is sinking in for him as well.

“No, no, keep going and tell me how you really feel,” I say sarcastically, though my words ring a little hollow.

Memnon makes a pained noise. “I hurt for all that I lost and how I lost it, and I’m despairing that I will ever get it again. I’m drowning in self-loathing at the moment.”

I glance over at Memnon, my eyes wide, before I realize that though I made a joke, he was forced to take the command literally.

After a moment, the sorcerer groans. “Gods, what have I done?”

Despite the heavy admissions, I smile, just a little. I might actually like Memnon this way. He’s disarming, which is a step up from hateful.

You’re not supposed to like him.

“You are supposed to like me,” Memnon replies. “That is the entire point of being soul mates.”

“Get out of my mind.”

“Est amage, it is you who are in my mind,” he says.

I glance down at my new boots. “You were right last night,” I admit softly. “There is so much about you I don’t know.”

It’s silent for several seconds. Then— “Please don’t make me give another confession. I can hardly stand the thoughts when I say them out loud.”

I swallow a laugh.

“How did you come to live in that house?” I ask as we walk.

“It’s a rental,” Memnon replies.

“How did you get the money to pay for it?” I ask.

“I know you remember my power,” he says. “With a touch and my will, I can get into anyone’s head. I can learn their secrets, such as account and routing numbers. And I can use them to my benefit.”

So he’s been stealing money. It’s not the worst crime he’s committed, so I guess I should curb my horror.

“And how did you learn about bank accounts, routing numbers, passwords⁠—”

“—and mortgages and the stock market?” Memnon finishes. “I am still figuring out most of these, but once you touch enough minds, the information fills itself out. Assuming, of course, that the minds correctly understand the concepts. I’m pretty sure most people have no idea how the stock market actually works—myself included.”

Ahead of us, the trees thin out, and I can just make out the conservatory and, farther on, my residence hall.

“So you’ve been using your powers to take what you need?” That explains how Memnon learned English so fast.

“I can hear your disapproval, Empress.”

“I don’t disapprove actually,” I say, surprising even myself. But it’s the truth. “You woke two millennia later than when you went to sleep. I’m glad you took care of yourself.”

In the darkness of the woods, I sense Memnon’s eyes on me. He doesn’t say anything, but down our bond, there’s this honeyed softness coming from him. It makes me think of all the parts of us I really don’t want to focus on.

I press my lips together and say nothing else for the rest of the walk back.

As soon as Memnon and I enter the residence hall, the air in the house shifts.

But as we pass my house’s library to our right, a few witches gaze curiously at the sorcerer. He gets more looks from the witches heading to the dining hall and a couple more from coven sisters coming down the staircase.

I glance over at Memnon, struck all over again by his appearance. His bronze skin, his black hair, and that beautiful, unforgiving face are arresting to look at, and that’s saying nothing about his massive stature. He’s built like the warrior he once was, and it shows.

He quirks an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth curving up. His lips part, and he sucks in a breath to speak.

“Whatever you’re about to say,” I warn, “don’t.”

The sorcerer closes his mouth, bound by my order. That doesn’t stop him from continuing to appear highly amused.

When we get to my room, Memnon’s assessing gaze sweeps over the place.

“Where is Nero?” he asks when he sees the empty cat bed.

“Out hunting.” I close the door behind me. “I didn’t name Nero after the emperor,” I confess. It was one of the things Memnon and I argued about weeks ago. “I named him after the era I first found him.”

Romans included the reigning emperor’s name in their dates. I lived and died during Nero’s reign, and though I hadn’t consciously realized that when I gave my familiar his name, I was still unknowingly paying tribute to it.

“I…see.” I sense the frayed edges of Memnon’s guilt all over again. That’s his only tell.

The sorcerer moves to my computer chair and sits down, his legs splaying out. His eyes still look a little haunted, and he’s definitely acting more reserved than usual, but there’s this menacing energy about Memnon that he can never fully shake. I feel as though I caught myself a monster. One who looks at home in this cramped room.