“Yes,” Memnon says, and I hear the eagerness in his response. “I would like that.”

Warmth blossoms at his response. I feel incandescent with it.

The sorcerer shifts against me, and I feel his hardening length brush against my leg.

Where in the Goddess’s name do you get this stamina?

Magic and two millennia of yearning, he says.

He begins kissing my upper arm and shoulder, his hand moving to cup my sex. “Now open those thighs, my pretty mate. We have a long night ahead of us.”

He doesn’t give me much peace.

If his cock isn’t in me, then it’s his mouth or his fingers, and none of my earlier squeamishness does much to change that. The only breaks are when he uses his magic to float our dinner into the room and feed it to me or the brief spurts of sleep we have between rounds.

When we had sex on Samhain, I assumed our fervor was driven by the witch’s brew. But there’s a feverishness in us both that drives us to come together again and again throughout the night.

At some point before dawn, I feel Memnon’s fingers trail over my cheek, and then the soft brush of his lips.

“My heart is filled to bursting,” he murmurs.

I reach for him, though I am tired and sore. Rather than letting me reel him in, he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.

“I have to go, but I will be back as soon as possible. Be well and sleep deeply, my queen.”

His hand slides from mine, and then he’s gone.

I wake some time later, the sun low in the sky. There’s a warm body pressed against my back.

Immediately, my heart begins to hammer, and I flip over, excited and nervous to see Memnon. But it’s not Memnon taking up space on the bed. It’s Nero.

The moment I shift, my massive familiar leans his head back toward me, silently asking for pets.

I rub under his chin. “Look at you,” I say fondly. “Sneaking onto the bed at the first opportunity.”

The big cat looks mighty pleased with himself.

I pet him a little longer, then attack his face with kisses until, affronted by the gross display of affection, my panther rolls away.

Oh, to be a cat.

I slip out of Memnon’s bed, my body satisfyingly sore. I’m also stark naked, I smell like sex and sweat, and I need another birth-control potion.

Fuck, if I’m doing this regularly, I’ll need to stockpile the stuff or else get a human prescription.

I shower, then change. Memnon still hasn’t returned by the time I’m fully dressed, and I have thirty minutes until my first class of the day begins.

I’m not missing it.

I’m about to call a car when I wander into the foyer and my eyes land on a side table. A set of car keys rest there.

What do you want? Memnon had asked me last night.

Well, sir, today I want the car.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 29

When Nero and I arrive on Henbane campus, we’re greeted with the sound of anguished howls.

Stepping away from Memnon’s car, I stare out across the grassy lawn, toward the tree line behind Morgana Hall and Cauldron Hall. Nero comes to my side, his ears perked.

Something is obviously happening.

The baleful howls continue as I head to Cauldron Hall, its stone façade looking particularly ominous against the overcast sky. My skin prickles. I haven’t checked on the wolves since Nero was attacked. Perhaps I should’ve.

A witch with warm brown skin and curly black hair passes me, and I stop her.

“Do you know what’s going on?” I ask, nodding toward the tree line beyond the campus buildings.

The witch pauses, her hooded brown eyes flittering over me and Nero.

“You haven’t heard?” she asks. “A lycanthrope has been killed.”

Immediately, I call Kane. The phone rings and rings, but he doesn’t answer. I try again, and then a third time.

Nothing.

Fuck.

Of course Kane’s not answering. He’s out in the woods with the rest of his pack, mourning the shifter they lost.

I call once more and leave a hasty message, and then reluctantly, I head into Wards.

I sit there among my peers, listen to the lecture, and I diligently take notes, but the excitement that normally suffuses this class is lost on me. It feels pointless, so goddess-damned pointless to be here, when all around us, supernaturals are being preyed on.

Perhaps this latest death is unrelated to the murders. Perhaps the dead shifter got gored by a deer or shot by some trigger-happy human who wandered onto the wrong patch of wilderness. Perhaps it was a mere accident or a more mundane misfortune.

I don’t know for sure until shortly after class lets out.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I head down the stone steps of Cauldron Hall. I snatch it up before the second ring.

“Hello?” I answer, ducking as someone’s bat familiar zips past my head.

“Selene?” Kane says. His voice is unnaturally low and gravelly. In the background, the grief-filled howls are amplified, the noise punctuated by whimpers and sobs.

“I heard the news. I’m so sorry, Kane,” I say.

The other end of the line is quiet, and part of me is sure Kane’s shifted and I’m now speaking to a wolf.

“Miranda was ripped apart,” he finally says, “just like the witches on your side of the woods.” It’s silent for another long moment, then he adds, “Her body carried the stink of something unnatural…” Kane’s voice disintegrates into a growl.

I take that in, wondering how much time I have to talk with the lycanthrope before he gives in to his shift.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, though the sentiment rings hollow. What is an apology in the face of a life cut horrifyingly short? “Do you or your pack mates need anything?” I ask. I don’t know that I have anything of substance to offer, but the rest of my peers and I have dealt with these deaths several times already.

The other end of the line is quiet again.

“The last time we spoke in person, you admitted that Memnon moves the bodies,” Kane eventually says.

My stomach drops.

“My pack would like to meet with him so that he might answer for this.”

After the call ends, I sit down on a random patch of grass in front of Henbane’s main buildings, Nero flopping down beside me.

I idly coax a small daisy to grow from the soil. As its stalk rises and a flower unfurls, I sit with my thoughts. Worry, doubt, and dread all knot together.

Memnon?

I feel the brush of Memnon’s pleasure, though beneath it, I sense…strain.

Est amage…your voice is sweeter than wine after conquest. Despite his words, his voice sounds tight, thready.

A light, fluttery feeling blossoms in my stomach. It has no business being there, given the current circumstances.

Did you move another body?

Perhaps … Again, his voice sounds strained.

I frown, and the daisy beneath my palm wilts a little.

Are you okay? I ask.

Is my fiancée worried about my well-being? he teases.

I look skyward even as I suppress a smile. Forget I asked.

Never. I’m collecting your slipups.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

Please don’t. I don’t even bother trying to deny that they are in fact slipups.

I feel the brush of his mirth, though there’s still that nagging sensation beneath it.

You’re really okay? I ask.

Again I feel his pleasure. Sweet mate, I’m fine. Were you reaching out just to ask about the body?

The one he all but confirmed he moved.

The shifters want to speak with you about their dead pack mate, I say. And…I told them you would.