Memnon looks half-convinced of his own plan when he steps past me and starts up the walkway to my house.

Shit—he isn’t serious, is he?

I rush after him. “Wait. Wait a goddess-damned minute,” I say, grabbing him by the wrist. “So long as you have a helmet for me, I’ll ride on your death machine.”

It does, after all, beat staying here among my enemies.

The drive is terrifying.

Memnon lives a few miles south of the coven, and the main road from Henbane to his house is especially winding.

Despite Memnon’s magic, which wraps around our waists and holds me in place, I cling to Memnon like my life depends on it. Down our bond, I can feel his amusement and the glow of his affection.

I’m glad he’s enjoying this. That makes one of us.

When we arrive at Memnon’s house, I nearly weep with relief. My limbs feel boneless from tensing for so long.

I slide off the motorcycle and remove the helmet Memnon did end up having with him.

Above the tree line, the sun is setting, but it’s not the sky that takes my breath away. Outside the sorcerer’s house, dozens of lanterns float above us, the flickering flames within them giving the place a ghoulish, magical ambiance.

Using a pinch of magic, Memnon grabs my bags from the tiny storage compartment on his stolen death bike⁠—

Steel horse, he corrects me.

—and he comes up to my side.

“Did you do this for me?” I ask, pointing to the lanterns.

His eyes flick over my face, then he nods.

“Why?” I ask.

“I wanted to bring a little of the magic of your coven here,” he admits.

I frown as my heart skips a little.

Movement at the corner of my eye has me tearing my attention away from the house.

Relief washes over me when I see my familiar loping toward us. I get down on one knee and catch Nero in my arms, the weight of him nearly bowling me backward.

“I missed you,” I whisper, holding him tightly as he rubs his head against the side of mine.

It’s unnatural to be so far from my familiar. All day, there was this persistent tug at the back of my mind, like I forgot an important memory. I’ve been so used to that feeling that I didn’t realize until now that it was because Nero and I were parted.

“I have something for you,” I say.

My panther watches me, probably hopeful it’s food. Instead, I pull out the cord.

“This is warded to protect you so you’ll be safe while you’re out hunting.” Honestly, I should’ve done this much sooner.

Nero’s ears flick back, and I think…I think he’s insulted.

“It isn’t a collar. It’s a protective amulet.”

He lets out a small, displeased sound.

Grumpy bastard.

“It’s for your safety,” I say.

Memnon steps up behind me. “Wear it for Selene’s sake, and I will give you a fresh cut of venison as soon as we get inside.”

Nero’s tail twitches with irritation, but he lowers his head and allows me to tie the protective amulet around his neck.

I give Memnon a look over my shoulder, partly annoyed but mostly grateful that his bribe worked.

“This is only a temporary solution,” I promise.

As soon as it’s secured, Nero heads toward the house, tail still twitching with his agitation.

He’ll get over it. Memnon says down our bond. Now, come, est amage. Let’s get you settled.

My eyebrows lift when I catch my first glimpse inside Memnon’s house. Clusters of pillar candles line every available surface—shelves, side tables, even the ground in some locations—their wax dripping all over the place.

Fifty dollars says I’m going to accidentally knock one of them over and start another fire in this house.

There’s a whisper-soft sound that accompanies hundreds of tiny flames burning through wicks, and it draws my magic up to the surface of my skin. I reach out as I pass a cluster of candles, running my fingers through the flames.

The front door clicks closed behind me, and I hear Memnon set down my bags. When I glance back at him, he’s watching me carefully; his head is tilted just a little, gauging my reaction.

“Are these more witchy details for me to appreciate?” I ask.

“No,” he says, coming to me. He moves to my front and continues to peer at my face, his smoky amber eyes shining in the dim light. “I simply wanted to remember the way firelight danced on your face.”

He continues to gaze at me, and his expression makes my heart skip. He used to look at me like this all the time. I didn’t know it was something I missed until this very moment. Unthinkingly, I take a step toward him, my eyes dropping to his lips.

What would happen if I decided we could be something other than enemies—or even something besides allies with benefits? What if I gave in to my deepest hidden wants the way witches are encouraged to do?

The thought is too tantalizing to pass up, especially when Memnon is right here, waiting for me to do something.

Very carefully, very deliberately, I wrap my hand around his neck, drawing his face down to mine. His eyes burn bright as I lean in and press a kiss to his lips, enjoying a brief taste of him.

His hands move to my arms, but already I’m slipping out of his reach.

I’m playing a dangerous game with this man. I know it, and I can see evidence of it—there’s a calculating edge to my soul mate’s expression, one that makes my pulse thrill. He’s looking at me like he’s sighted prey.

Thanks to the forged bond between us, I’m also completely in control. One word from me and I can change the entire flow of this evening.

I could get drunk on this sort of power. And I just might.

While Memnon makes good on his promise to Nero and gets the panther his slab of meat, I quickly send my mom my nightly proof-of-life text, this time along with a photo of me blowing her a kiss. Then I wander into the house’s dining room. The sight before me stops me in my tracks.

The long, carved oak table in front of me is laden with platters of food. Grapes spill from bowls, cheeses sit next to thickly cut slices of bread, and a whole-ass roasted chicken glistens on a platter.

A thin, glittering plume of Memnon’s magic covers the space. I run my hand through the magic, watching with no little awe as it shifts, moving toward me as though I’m a lodestone.

I’ve seen this spell many times before—it’s a laughably mundane one. A spell for freshness—to keep meat warm, bread soft and moist, produce crisp, and dairy from souring.

Memnon enters the room then, moving to the other side of the table where he tracks my movements over more candlelight.

As I play with his magic, the spell dissipates, my touch enough to break it. Between the flickering candlelight, the deep shadows, and the heavily laden table, I’m reminded of that final dinner, right before we were betrayed.

But I cannot think of it without remembering how it ended. I can still hear the pounding footsteps of the Roman soldiers closing in on me that night. I can still see the bloody bodies of Memnon’s mother and sister. Their bones have been ground to dust, their lives just a ghost of a memory. Civilizations have come and gone, and the world has forgotten.

All that’s left is us. Just us.

I push away the bleak thought.

“This looks like it was a lot of work,” I say softly.

“It isn’t work if it gives you pleasure,” Memnon replies. There it is, my soul mate’s resurrected hobby. It makes me strangely happy to know he’s found it again.

I pull out the chair in front of me and sit down, noting the alcohol he’s already poured for me. “Plying me with wine, est xsaya?” I tease. His eyes flash at the title. “And when I’m not legally old enough to drink? Very bold of you.”