He swivels a little in the seat, peering over the knickknacks on my desk. The action makes me twitchy, and I have to remind myself that I can actually control the man now.

His eyes snag on my keyboard. Abruptly, he stops moving.

“Who wrote this?” His voice is entirely different, low with rage.

He picks up the sticky note with the threatening message, strands of his power snapping and coiling out of him like lunging serpents. When his eyes meet mine, he looks ready to murder somebody. He probably is ready to murder somebody.

“The people who survived the spell circle—I think.”

His eyes begin to glow, just a little. He slides the note into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” I say, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

“Saving this note so that I can nail it to their body when I find them.”

Hell’s bells. Involving Memnon is already turning out to be a bad idea. I’m trying to tame a creature far more intense than even my panther.

“Is this note why you wanted my help?” he asks, way too insightful.

There’s no point denying it. I give a sharp nod.

My soul mate leans forward, the tense set of his features making his scar appear extra visible. “I will tell you everything I know about the murders and the spell circle, but, est amage, the knowledge comes at a cost. If I involve you, we run the risk of our enemies discovering our connection—not just that we’re soul mates but also that you now control me. That is…dangerous knowledge to have. It can be used against us. Do you still want my help?”

“I’m already involved. I want to know.”

Memnon bows his head and nods. Which should we focus on first? he says, speaking directly down our connection.

Right. This discussion is a bit too sensitive to be voicing out loud.

I jut my chin toward his pocket, where the threatening note rests. The witches involved in the spell circle. They are the more immediate concern.

Memnon’s eyes begin to glow again. Those glowing eyes, along with rustling hair, are signs a sorcerer is giving in to their power. When that happens, they run the risk of losing hold of their humanity and their control over the power they wield. This is when a sorcerer’s magic truly eats at their conscience.

But just as quickly as my mate’s eyes illuminate, they return to their normal hue.

They entered your room, even with the wards? Memnon asks. His gaze moves to my door.

I nod.

More of Memnon’s magic slithers out of him with my admission. It moves across the room and spreads over the surface of the door, and I’m sure that the sorcerer is setting yet another ward.

About the spell circle, I say down our bond, my gaze wandering to the panther tattoo that’s peeking out from his neck. This is what I know: the circles happen every new moon beneath this house—or at least they used to. I don’t know if they will move them after the shit show that happened last time. The only woman I know by name who was involved in it was Kasey. She was the witch who recruited me to attend the spell circle. Now she’s missing.

Memnon rubs his lower lip, watching me. The night they chased you through the woods, how many were injured?

I shake my head. I don’t know—at least a dozen.

Did anyone die?

I hesitate. At least one. Nero…Nero ripped out one woman’s throat. There might’ve been others as well. I wasn’t paying attention.

Memnon nods. When I went back to exact revenge, all the women—both alive and dead—were gone. Whoever got the dead and injured out of those woods made sure to scrub the area of their blood and any other evidence I might use to hunt them down. They were ready for a counterattack. Whatever is going on, this isn’t just some monthly gathering. They are organized, they have resources, and they know how to make bodies and evidence disappear—and they have access to the persecution tunnels beneath the house.

The thought is nauseating, now that I know these people have gotten through my wards and into my room. The persecution tunnel that leads out from beneath this very building connects to a vast network of subterranean tunnels. No one in this house is entirely safe if the tunnels are being exploited for nefarious purposes.

Memnon threads his fingers loosely together, his forearms resting on his thighs. Why would a well-organized group of supernaturals do their business in the tunnels beneath your coven? he asks down our bond.

I sense he knows the answer to this. I turn inward, thinking about it. The only thing that comes to mind is the most obvious answer, the one I already know.

Most of the members must live here.

Memnon nods. Or they’re trying to recruit witches from your house.

That is what happened to me. I just didn’t go along with it.

Memnon’s eyes flick over me, and though the conversation is a bit dark, a small smile curves his lips.

What? I say through our connection, trying not to notice the lock of hair that’s fallen in front of one of his eyes. I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear.

I like this, he admits.

You like what?

Us, studying our enemies, plotting out our next moves.

I frown, even though my heart speeds up.

The sorcerer stands, rescuing me from the moment. He moves to my door and tilts his head, studying the protective spells.

They shouldn’t have been able to get in here with all these wards in place. Memnon turns back to me. If I told you it wasn’t safe to stay here⁠—

There is no way I am staying with you in that burnt husk of a house, I say.

If it weren’t burnt?

That would also be a no.

The sorcerer stares at me, eyes narrowed, for a long beat. Then he smiles, like he relishes my anger. Turning back to the door, he murmurs in Sarmatian, “Guard this door against all those who wish Selene harm.”

His indigo power flows out of him, spreading across the door as he adds yet another ward to the growing knot of them. The plumes of his magic condense into lines of what looks like writing. The markings glow as they sink into the frame of the door, then dim until all that remains is the barely perceptible sheen of the spell.

If you want to find out more about the people behind that note, then there’s one place we should definitely explore, Memnon says down our bond. The persecution tunnels.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 11

“This is not how I planned to spend my evening,” I say as the two of us enter the Ritual Room.

The windowless room, with its walls and ceiling painted black, was where coven sisters gathered for certain ceremonies. Currently, a circle of partially burned white candles sits at the center of the room, the box they came in pushed off to the side.

“Yes, well, mine didn’t quite look like this either.”

“How did your plans look?” I ask Memnon curiously.

“I expected to be enjoying the fruits of my vengeance. Namely, I thought I’d be married to you and well on my way to eating your pussy out.”

I make a face as I step up to the spelled wall, shivering a little at the thought. I’d like to say the shiver comes from a deep-rooted fear, but that’s not true. Mostly, I’m remembering what being married to the sorcerer was like, which mainly involved lots of love and good sex.

“I see you’re still deluded,” I say.

“Am I now?” he says behind me, and the mocking tone of his voice sets my teeth on edge. He and I both know I have a weakness for his mouth when it’s on certain unmentionable parts of me.

“I still cannot believe you proposed to me by threatening the lives of my friends. Talk about the least romantic proclamation of love.”