It feels like a waste of time trying to chase the right spell down when the sorcerer here already knows one.

“I need help breaking the curse on my own,” I say softly. “Will you remind me of the incantation you used?” It feels funny to ask for his help when he refused to heal himself.

But he answers readily enough. “Tirub xeqeqoyaq yaqub evritiwuwa yasnnichis, puqamubyaqpi chiqmachibmi.”

I extend my hand over his back, gathering my magic. The buzzing from the sconces grows louder, and the lights flicker more intensely as I recite the curse-breaking spell.

My magic spreads across his back once more, but this time, it doesn’t bother healing the wounds at all. Instead, an alarming amount of the black, tarry substance coating his wounds now oozes from them. The moment it’s expelled from his body, it begins to bubble and hiss away, dissolving into an oily smoke that dissipates into the air.

“What do the words of the spell mean?” I ask softly as my magic works.

“Begone poisoned death that corrupts my spirit. With love I destroy you.”

I muse on that as the last of the dark magic burns away. Once I’m sure the spell is finished, I lick my dry lips, inspecting the wounds. They look clean.

“I think it worked,” I say softly.

“I had no doubt,” Memnon says, still leaning forward and idly petting Nero’s head. My panther closes his eyes, basking in the touch.

“I’m going to finish healing you,” I say, letting my magic spill from me. This doesn’t take an incantation. My power wants to heal him, the soft plumes of it rolling over his back and sinking into his flesh. It begins stitching muscle and skin together, his torn tattoos beginning to reform.

My gaze crawls up his back to what I can see of his profile and his wavy, blood-speckled hair.

I cannot seem to help myself—I reach out and run my fingers through that black hair. Belatedly, I realize this is a caress. I’m caressing this man.

My heart stumbles over itself as Memnon leans into the touch, and I have a moment of déjà vu—we have done this many times before. This is muscle memory as much as anything else, and for some reason, that makes my heart ache all the more.

I withdraw my hand and refocus my attention on his wounds.

How did this happen? I ask down our bond. I don’t dare voice the question out loud while I can still hear my coven sisters in the distance. I can’t forget that here in this house, I’m at least partially among enemies.

Shortly after the murdered shifter was found today, the mage I worked for, Patrick, and his employees were called in before Luca Fortuna. We were all punished for negligence and sloppy work, and Patrick was…disposed of.

So this was retaliation for the bodies in the woods, bodies that Patrick ordered Memnon to move.

From everything Memnon’s told me, it seems blatantly clear that he’s the one staging these victims. It doesn’t seem like it would’ve been hard for Patrick to prove Memnon’s guilt. But the mage didn’t do that. Instead he died, and Memnon was punished alongside his colleagues as though no one knew who the culprit was.

This is a dangerous sort of game Memnon is playing. He’s clearly manipulating many minds to hide what he’s doing. But this is a multimillion-dollar criminal organization he’s messing with. Luck and strategy can only last so long.

Why did you move the body? I ask. It made sense before, when he was framing me. It doesn’t make sense now.

We’re working to bring down the murderers, Memnon reminds me. The killers aren’t just people. They’re a kingdom. A seemingly untouchable one. They’re not so different from Rome, really. The first step in defeating such a kingdom is undermining their power.

You don’t have to put yourself at risk for this—for me. I don’t want that.

Make no mistake, Empress. I enjoy doing this. I feel like the king I once was.

Spoken to me while his back is a mess of injuries and he’s faint from blood loss.

But Memnon could’ve healed himself or else altered minds to prevent his punishment in the first place. He didn’t. I need to remember that.

If Patrick is dead, then why would you still pretend to follow his command? I ask as my eyes linger on his healing injuries. Most of them have closed, the new skin pink.

Juliana Fortuna commanded it. I was forced to bond to her, along with the rest of Patrick’s former bonds.

I go still. From what Memnon previously told me, Juliana is a daughter of Luca Fortuna, the head of Ensanguine Enterprises, a.k.a. the Fortuna crime ring. If this binding was as public as it sounds, then⁠—

Is the bond⁠—

Real? Memnon finishes. Gods, it nearly was, but no. I managed to avoid it. Barely. But Juliana and everyone else there believe it is.

I exhale, my body going slack with my relief.

I’ll meet with her tomorrow, Memnon continues. I still haven’t been able to get close enough to either her or Luca to physically see into their minds, but now that I’m under Juliana’s control, I’ll have more opportunities. Once I’m able to peer at their thoughts, I’ll understand why the murders are happening—and I can then perhaps alter their minds and stop them.

Or he’ll kill them, but he doesn’t say that.

Suddenly, I feel weary. So weary. I should be thrilled. Finally, the pieces are falling into place, and Memnon has all but admitted he might actually be able to stop the murders.

But when I asked for his help, I was fueled by anger and resentment and my own sort of revenge. Now, I can feel two thousand years of fear creeping up my spine.

Memnon, the last time you took on an empire like this, it ended badly for us.

He turns on the couch to look at me fully, and his hand goes to my cheek. This isn’t Rome. It will be different.

I search his eyes. There’s a feeling knotted in my chest, an echo of the pain I felt the night I discovered him in that sarcophagus, hopelessly out of reach.

I can’t lose you again. I’m horrified when I realize I’ve pushed the words down our bond.

Memnon’s eyes go soft, too soft, and if I were standing, my knees would weaken at the sight.

My queen, since I woke, I have desperately dreamed you might say such a thing. That you might feel a shadow of what I feel for you. But you do not need to worry, he continues. I’d sooner burn every last remnant of the Fortuna dynasty than let something come between us. You won’t lose me, I swear it to you.

That’s not truly something he can promise me, but I tuck the vow away anyway.

I glance at his back. The last of his lashes are nothing more than faded lines. Even those are slowly darkening to match the rest of his bronze-toned skin. I release a little more of my power, this time to lift the blood from Memnon’s shirt, his skin, and his hair, and then my own. The red liquid vanishes in seconds, and it appears as though he weren’t hurt to begin with.

I tug the hem of his shirt down, covering his back. “You’re going to have to make up an excuse to your shitty new boss about why your back is healed—or you can just snap her neck as you do most people who annoy you.”

Memnon gives me an amused smirk, his eyes twinkling. “Is my soul mate growing vicious? I do approve.”

Before I get a chance to respond, Memnon stands, pulling me to my feet. He cups my face.

His eyes glitter. “Thank you, Empress,” he says.

I take a deep breath and nod. “Of course.”

His expression turns amused. “Now let’s go meet these wolves.”

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CHAPTER 31

When Memnon and I drive up to the cabin on shifter territory, the place is unsettlingly quiet. There are cars parked outside it, but there’s not a soul around, nor do I hear the bereaved howls that cut through the air earlier.