Текст книги "Bewitched"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Memnon’s thumbs stroke my cheeks in silent approval. “Now repeat after me: Ziwatunutapsa vak mi’tavkasavak ozkos izakgap.”

I bare my memories for you to see.

The words come easily to me, the sounds of this ancient language both harsh and lilting.

He continues. “Pes danvup kuppu sutvusa vak danus dukup mi’tupusa. Pes vakvu i’wpatkapsasava kusasuwasa dulipazan detupusa.”

All that I know, I share with you. I willingly give you the truth of my past.

I sense his magic rise, and as soon as I finish speaking, it rushes into me.

Reflexively, I grab Memnon’s wrists, ready to jerk his hands away at the first brush of his power in my head, but the sorcerer holds me fast.

Memory after memory flitters by so swiftly, I can hardly make sense of any of them, only that each one is touched by the sharp caress of Memnon’s power. On and on it goes, and it could be seconds, or it could be hours. I feel like I’m being turned inside out, like every dirty little truth has been inspected and—

With a curse, Memnon’s hands leave me. He stumbles back, breathing heavily, and when he takes me in, his eyes are haunted.

He searches my face, as though it will give him the answers he’s looking for. “How…?”

“Do you believe me now?”

He’s still searching my face, and while he does so, I allow myself to study his. I’m mesmerized by the black hair that curls at his nape, his pronounced cheekbones, those multifaceted eyes and sensuous lips.

“You’re right, Selene.”

I almost close my eyes when I hear him say my name. This is a small victory, but I’ll take it. And I can’t help but notice how intimate he makes my name sound. As though he knows things about me that no one else does—which, now that he’s rifled through my mind, is technically true.

“You remember nothing,” he continues. “Your memory itself…” Memnon frowns, a crease forming between his brows.

“My magic feeds off my memories,” I explain. “So there are lots of holes in it.”

He studies me. “I don’t understand our situation,” he says slowly. “Not yet at least. But neither, it appears, do you.” Memnon grimaces to himself. “So, for now, I’ll accept this horrible simulacrum of reality.”

Does that mean he really, truly, finally believes me?

The intensity in his gaze has cooled; all that’s left is a hollow sort of sadness.

“I had horses, I had warriors and armies, I had palaces and servants and admirers, but most important of all, I had you.” His voice breaks on that final word, like a wave crashing against the rocks.

“You had Roxilana,” I remind him softly.

Memnon works his jaw and looks away. “No, in the end, I apparently did not have even her.”

His chest rises and falls faster and faster, and I can sense the violent edge of his magic stirring awake.

“You need to leave,” I say quietly. Memnon got what he came for. It’s not my fault it wasn’t what he wanted.

The sorcerer’s magic fills the room, and mine mounts to meet his.

Memnon gives me one last baleful look, and then he strides past me and out of my room. The door swings closed behind him, and with that, Memnon the Cursed is finally gone.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 20

I’m on my stomach, my cheek resting against a soft bedsheet. There’s someone at my back, peppering kisses up my spine.

“Est amage,” Memnon breathes against my skin.

I tense at the sound of his voice.

Hadn’t he and I parted a few hours ago?

I glance around the room. This one has a low ceiling and close walls made from dark wood. Scattered oil lamps illuminate the intricate red-and-gold design on the blanket beneath me.

My fingers trace the pattern. I…I swear there’s something right there, on the edge of my mind.

Memnon strokes a hand down my bare spine, and my muscles tighten all over again. I can feel the warm press of his legs against mine, and I can see our magic mingling in the air, the shades going from a rosy orange to coppery pink to dark lavender and a deep sapphire blue.

“Relax, little witch. I only want to make you feel good.” A moment later, Memnon gently flips me onto my back.

The sorcerer is naked and on his knees, his cock jutting forward. The lamplight makes his eyes look almost liquid, and I find my breath catching at the sight of him.

He notices me staring, and the two of us hold each other’s gazes.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says softly.

Reveal my thoughts? That sounds terrifying.

But as I continue to gaze into Memnon’s eyes, I don’t feel terror—not unless you count this strange falling feeling I’m experiencing.

“I want you to kiss me,” I confess, dipping my eyes to those lips.

I see them curve into a smile—I even get a peek at those sharp canines of his.

Memnon leans in and presses a kiss between my breasts. “Here?” he whispers against my skin.

A wave of goose bumps moves down my arms.

I shake my head.

Memnon’s mouth skims over one of my breasts, stopping to tongue my nipple.

“Here?” he asks.

I gasp, my skin prickling with sensation. “My lips,” I breathe.

Memnon smiles against my skin, my nipple still caught between his teeth. That simple devious reaction of his sets my nerves on fire, and I find myself reflexively grinding my pelvis against his.

“Ah, you want a kiss on your lips,” Memnon says.

A second later, he’s moving. But rather than get closer to my mouth, he pulls away, using one of his knees to spread my legs apart.

Memnon catches my eye and flashes me a grin that promises sin. He bends down, looking like he’s about to bow. Instead, he places one of my legs over one of his shoulders, then the other.

His mouth is inches from my pussy. Only now do I put together his earlier words.

You want a kiss on your lips.

I feel his exhale against my sensitive folds. Hell’s spells…

A shiver works its way through me.

“You are the only goddess I pray to,” Memnon murmurs, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. “You’re a fucking vengeful one too.”

One of his hands strokes the outside of my leg, and he leans in, pressing a carnal kiss to my folds. Another shiver wracks my body.

Memnon must feel it because his hand stops stroking my leg so he can grip me tighter.

A moment later, his tongue slides up my seam. My hips buck at the action, and a breathless cry slips from my mouth.

I’m intoxicated on the sensation he’s stirring up within me.

Memnon, voice rough from desire, says, “Let me show you how I pray to you, my wrathful goddess.”

With that, he leans forward, and he…prays.

I cry out as his mouth moves over my sensitive flesh. His fingers soon find my clit, and he rubs it in circles as his tongue slips between my folds and delves into my core.

I lie there, panting, as Memnon wrecks me touch by touch. One moment I’m desperate to get away from the overstimulation, but then the next, I’m desperate to get closer. It’s too much—it’s not enough. I need less of his tongue and fingers and more of the rest of him.

I reach for the sorcerer, no longer satisfied with just his hands and mouth working my flesh. I want to feel him in me.

At my insistent tug, Memnon stops his ministrations and lets me lead him up my body.

He resettles himself over me, his cock trapped between us.

The sorcerer’s eyes glint as he takes me in. “You think I’m going to give you this?” He rocks his hips against mine, and I suck in a sharp breath when his cock slides through my folds.

He laughs, drinking in my expression. “Oh no. You misunderstand, Selene.” He kisses my cheek, then presses his lips to my ears. “I will make you ache and ache, est amage. You see, I can be wrathful too.”

I wake with a gasp. My hand is once again between my legs, and my near orgasm is retreating. My skin is sweaty and heated. I was edged within an inch of my life by a freaking dream. Again.

I blow out a frustrated breath, staring up at my ceiling. Clearly, my subconsciousness thinks I need to get laid. And unfortunately for me, it’s set its sights on the worst man for the job.

Even as I think it, a small part of me feels sad that I may not see Memnon again. It’s the illogical, masochistic part of me, but it’s still there.

But there’s also the question of whether Memnon truly is gone. I banished him once, and that basically did nothing. I think I’m being optimistic to assume he left for good.

A sound from outside my open window distracts me from my thoughts. The oak tree rustles; then Nero takes shape from the darkness, hopping from the branch to my windowsill, his claws gouging the wood frame.

“Nero.” I smile, happy to see my familiar. He was gone for most of the day, and though I know I can always slip into his mind to be close to him and to make sure he’s safe, it’s not the same as having him right in front of me.

My panther’s shadowy form hops down from the windowsill and prowls over to my bed. Without much preamble, he leaps onto my mattress, then immediately begins kneading the blankets.

He’s just a cuddly little murder machine.

I reach a hand out and pet his face. Even in the darkness, I can see his eyes closing happily from the scratches.

“You’re such a good familiar,” I coo, and for once, Nero lets me coddle him.

I run my hand down his neck and flank, pausing when I touch something wet and sticky.

Foreboding washes over me. Pulling my hand away, I rub my fingers together, then bring them to my nose. Almost immediately, I notice the cloying, gamey smell coming from them.

“Illuminate this room,” I say, drawing hard and fast on my magic. My power lashes out of me, swirling itself into an orb of light.

As soon as my magic brightens the space, I gasp.

My fingers are coated in bright red blood. But it’s not just on my fingers; it’s all over—

“Nero.”

I’m in his head so fast, I get momentarily confused at the sight of my own human face staring back at me.

I can feel wetness against my—I mean his—flank and on his legs and paws. But there are no obvious aches or pains.

Not Nero’s blood.

I’m back in my own head a moment later. My familiar sprawls out on his side, and now I can see the blood smears across my checkered comforter.

“What happened?” I ask Nero, even though I know he can’t respond. “Is this blood from one of your kills?”

No reaction from him.

“Did you hurt the creature whose blood this is?”

Another nonreaction, except now Nero’s tail flicks with irritation.

I’m not asking the right questions.

My mind moves to darker, more terrifying places.

“Was it a human?”

Slowly, Nero’s head dips and rises, the action looking unnatural on him. But it was a nod.

“Are they alive?” I ask.

Nothing.

Fuck.

That’s a no.

“Can you take me to them?”

Nero gets off the bed and prowls toward the window once more. After grabbing my phone and sweatshirt and shoving my feet into a pair of running shoes, I follow him.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 21

I move like a woman possessed, jogging behind my familiar, my awareness straddled between him and myself.

It only strikes me that this may be a bad idea when we hit the tree line edging the campus.

Oh, we’re going in there.

My heart pounds loudly.

You are a powerful witch with a badass familiar. No one is going to fuck with you.

Ahead of me, Nero slows.

Before I see anything at all, I sense the slick, tainted magic that hangs in the air.

Dark magic.

“Illuminet hunc locum.” Illuminate this place.

The Latin words flow smoothly out of me, coming from the same shrouded part of me where my stolen memories go. It’s a shock to hear them, mostly because lately, it’s that other language, the one Memnon speaks, that my mind reaches for. It’s like seeing an old friend again, hearing this bit of ancient language fall from my lips.

My magic spins itself into several orbs of amber light, each one levitating into the air above me and Nero. They settle between the bows of trees, glowing softly.

Now that my surroundings are lit, I can see the insidious power ahead of us. It chokes the air and smears the ground. It takes me a moment to realize those smears are blood—tainted magical blood.

Next to me, a growl rises from my familiar’s throat as he stares straight ahead.

I follow his gaze. No more than twenty feet in front of us lies a body, its limbs twisted, its clothes and skin covered in black-tinged blood. Long hair obscures the individual’s face, but it does nothing to hide the open cavity in their chest where their organs should rest.

The meaty smell, the oily magic that glistens and clings to the body—it’s overwhelming. I turn and retch.

I figured I would find a body; Nero indicated as much. Yet I find I’m still shocked at the discovery. Shocked and disturbed.

Need to call the Politia. Now.

With a shaky hand, I pull out my phone. It takes me several tries to search for their phone number, my fingers not working as they should.

Finally, I hit the number, and it rings through.

“Politia, Station Fifty-Three—what can I help you with?”

I draw in a lungful of air, but then I taste the dark magic at the back of my throat, and I have to fight another wave of nausea.

All I can manage are a few short words.

“There’s—there’s been another murder.”

I return to the residence hall an hour before daybreak, my body beyond exhausted.

I was questioned for hours, my familiar and I photographed and swabbed for blood and anything else we might’ve picked up from the crime scene while Politia officers scoured my room for additional evidence. My bedroom is still sealed off, but I’m in no rush to see or deal with the tainted blood all over my things.

I’m going to have to bless the shit out of it once I’m allowed to return.

I spend the first hours of the day crying in one of the shower stalls. Nero is in there with me, rubbing his head reassuringly against my leg. On any other day, I’d find this situation beyond fucking weird—my familiar and I taking a shower together to rinse off the blood and dark magic clinging to us.

Not today, however.

All I can focus on is the memory of that dead individual, their organs ripped out, their very blood infused with dark magic. I didn’t see the person’s face or the shimmer of their own lingering magic—assuming they had any to being with. Somehow, that lack of distinguishing features makes the whole thing worse. There’s no personhood to change my horror into grief or sympathy.

I lean my head against the wall of the shower, letting myself cry until I feel empty.

My hands shake as I grab one of the two towels a Politia officer grabbed for me earlier from my room. I wrap the towel around myself, then use the remaining one to wipe down my familiar.

My bones are weary. I ache in places that can’t be healed with ointment and a Band-Aid.

Once Nero and I are dry, we exit the communal bathroom. If there’s one silver lining from this whole shitty experience, it’s that I feel a deeper connection to my panther than ever before.

I guess trauma can do that.

Wearing only a towel, I head down to the second floor, where Sybil’s room is. Then I pause in front of her door, my hair still dripping. I glance down at Nero. My panther stares up at me. Maybe there’s something in my eyes, or maybe he can see my lower lip shaking—something it’s been doing on and off for several hours—but Nero rubs his head against my leg, then leans his body heavily against me.

I catch a sob in my throat and force it down at the show of protective affection from my normally distant familiar.

I run my hand down the side of his face and neck. Turning back to the door, I take a deep breath, and then I knock.

From the other side of the door, I hear Sybil groggily shout, “Go away!”

I want to say something snappy back, but it feels like my throat is lodged with cotton, and the words aren’t coming.

I wait for my friend to get up and answer the door. When she doesn’t, I knock again, this time more insistently.

I hear a groan. “Someone better have died for you to be waking me at this hour.” Sybil’s words carry through the wall.

I lean my forehead against her door. “They have.” My voice comes out softer and hoarser than I imagined. I close my eyes to fight off the images pressing forward in my mind.

There’s a long silence, and I almost think Sybil’s fallen back asleep when I hear the rustle of blankets.

Seconds after I straighten, the door swings open and a bleary-eyed Sybil is squinting at me.

“Selene,” she says, frowning, “what’s going on?”

Keep it together. Keep it together.

“It’s a long story,” I whisper. “Can Nero and I crash in your room for a few hours?”

“You never need to ask,” she says, grabbing my wrist and dragging me inside. She holds the door long enough for Nero to slink in behind me.

The window is open, and her familiar’s perch is empty. I let out a relieved breath at the sight; I don’t want to be dealing with my familiar trying to eat her familiar on top of everything else.

“Need some clothes?” she asks.

“Please,” I say as, next to me, Nero noses the plants that seem to explode from every nook and cranny of my friend’s room.

Sybil riffles through her dresser before pulling out stretchy pants and a T-shirt.

I remove my towel and hang it up, then tug on the clothes. They’re soft and smell like my friend, and once I have them on, I collapse onto her bed.

Sybil comes to the other side of her mattress. “Scooch,” she says, nudging me over.

I crawl under the covers of her bed, making myself at home in my friend’s room as I have so many other times before. Nero comes to my side before lying down on the floor next to me. Sybil slips under the covers.

After a moment, she runs her fingers through my hair. “Are you okay, babe?” she asks softly.

I shake my head.

“Want to talk about it?”

A ragged breath leaves me.

“No,” I admit.

But I end up telling her everything anyway.

The rest of the coven finds out only a few hours later, while Sybil and I watch a baking show on her laptop, the two of us still nestled in her bed.

It’s impossible not to know about this latest murder, considering the number of forensic specialists I’ve heard tromping up and down the stairs, undoubtedly heading into and out of my room to collect and catalog evidence.

Eventually, I drag myself out of Sybil’s room, taking a pen and a few sheets of lined paper so I can attend classes today and take notes.

I don’t know why I bothered to attend today; I sit there and robotically scribble down everything my instructor says. I don’t really process any of it, my body tired, my brain fuzzy.

Why did I have to go out into the Everwoods like some sort of junior detective? I shudder when I think about Nero wandering in that forest alongside a murderer, one who practices the dark arts.

Toward the end of class, I get a text from a number I don’t recognize.

Forensics is done with your room. You can return.

Relief and trepidation flood my system.

After class ends, I head back to my house, running my hand over one of the stone lamassu as I walk up to my front door. Once I enter, my heartbeat quickens.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just my room. I’m ready to be reunited with my things.

I head up the stairs and down the hallway, the rooms in my wing of the house awfully quiet. Usually, there’s laughter, or shrieking, or animal vocalizations from my coven sisters’ familiars.

When I get to my door, I hesitate, remembering the blood on my sheets.

Drawing in a fortifying breath, I grab my knob and turn. Opening my door, I step inside, and almost immediately, my nose scrunches at the smell of disinfectant and the layers of faded magic still clinging to my room.

The blood has been scrubbed away from the windowsill and floor, and my bed has been stripped completely—someone’s even performed a sanitizing spell—but I can still sense the faintest traces of dark magic.

The room feels less inviting than when it was bare of all my things.

I blow out a breath.

There’s only one thing to do.

Clean.

It takes several hours to scrub, bless, and ward my room to my satisfaction. Once it’s done, I order myself a new comforter and sheet set, wincing inwardly when I realize I charged more on my credit card than I have in my account.

And I still have to buy Nero more food.

I rub my forehead, a throb building behind my temples. The thing about being poor is that you’re always one minor problem away from ruin.

The comforter was my minor problem.

I log on to my bank account and count how long I have until I need to pay my bill.

Twelve days.

My stomach twists with unease. Twelve days to figure something out before I officially go into debt.

I scrub my face, feeling lost.

There was something though, wasn’t there? Some solution to fix this?

What was it?

I grab my school bag from where it lay and dig through it. When my hand closes over my journal, I pull it out and flip through the last several pages of information.

My eyes flick over assignments, schedules, handwritten directions, and descriptions of locations.

Not that, or that, or that.

Am I misremembering?

On the next page I turn to, a piece of paper flutters out.

I catch it, then flip it over in my hand.

Kasey

Beneath the name is a phone number, and beneath that, in my own handwriting, is an additional message.

Offer to join a spell circle.

$500 gig

Seems shady and is probably a bad idea. Skip unless desperate for cash.

I don’t remember writing this note, and I can’t quite grasp the memory it came from, but the name Kasey…I think I know which witch that is.

I worry my teeth over my lower lip, my intuition rioting at the thought of participating in anything shady. Entanglements like that have stripped other witches of their coven affiliation.

I glance at my bank account one more time before I decide.

I can look for a job, a student loan, or a grant to cover my needs in the future. But in the meantime…

I enter the number into my phone and send a text.

I want to attend the spell circle.

OceanofPDF.com