It did seem justified, but it doesn’t make me feel better about using it.

The sorcerer must sense my lingering unease because he adds, “We have both used such magic many, many times. It is…tainted, but powerful.”

I peer at Memnon, my eyes lingering on his scar. “What do you think it’s tainted with?” I ask, fearing the answer. I’ve heard all the stories about dark magic, the most famous of which is the Law of Three—using it will curse you three times as badly as the original act. But mostly, supernaturals don’t speak of dark magic. And now that I’ve used it a few times, I’m starting to worry.

Memnon shakes his head, his eyes dropping to the last of the curse as it dissolves away. “I don’t know.”

After a pause, I admit, “I heard a voice.”

Memnon’s sharp gaze flicks to mine. “What sort of voice?”

I open my mouth, but then I shake my head, at a loss for words. “I don’t know. It might have been many voices, but it spoke to me.” I don’t mention that this likely was the same entity that granted my final spell as Roxilana, nor do I mention that it lent me power tonight. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

The sorcerer looks concerned as his eyes search mine. He turns back to my arm, watching his magic as it sinks into my skin.

“Have you ever heard of anything like it?” I ask.

After a moment, Memnon nods. “My father called them the Hungering Ones. He told me they were malevolent but formidable deities. They have a taste for power and enjoy nothing more than blood-soaked earth. I’ve always ignored the voices when they’ve called out to me. If you hear them again, est amage, you should too.” He holds my gaze, his eyes steady. “There are things even kings and queens should not meddle with.”

Unfortunately, I think it’s too late for that.

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CHAPTER 24

Once the dark magic is out of my system, Memnon sets to healing me. His hands press against my stomach, his magic moving through every limb.

“You were with the shifters tonight,” he states.

I swallow delicately, already knowing I’m going to hate the conversation.

“How is it that on the very night you met with an entire pack, you and your familiar manage to get severely injured?”

Memnon makes it sound like they were involved.

“It wasn’t their fault,” I say. “Nero and the shifters didn’t get along, so my panther left the meeting to hunt in the woods. It was there that the witches cornered him.”

“The lycans must’ve been aware of the attack—I heard their howls. Why weren’t they there fighting off the witches?” Memnon says.

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.