Текст книги "Bewitched"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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I feel the brush of his lips against my ear. “You should never ask me for things you do not mean, Empress,” he says, his voice pitched low. “But I think you do know what you want more of. And I think it frightens you.”

I swallow, goose bumps breaking out along my flesh.

A second passes. Then two, then three.

“Do you still want more?” Memnon breathes against me.

I don’t even bother lying to myself. “Yes.”

Memnon doesn’t respond, but several seconds later, the bed dips, and I feel his powerful thighs on either side of my own.

His hands return to my back, kneading my muscles. It feels erotic, even though it shouldn’t. It’s just a back massage.

There is no reason why I should be getting turned on by this. But moldy fucking toadstools, I am getting turned on. There’s an ache between my legs. And it’s growing and growing.

“Next time, est amage, I will make you tell me what you want—”

A moan slips out of me. I don’t mean for it to escape, but there it is.

Behind me, Memnon pauses.

“Then again,” he says, “that works too.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, but I refuse to be embarrassed.

I begin to flip over, and Memnon lifts himself a little so I can finish turning onto my back. I stare up at the ancient king.

From this position he looks impossibly big, his shoulders massive, his torso made from muscle and sinew alone. And that wicked face, with his sharp cheekbones and gleaming eyes.

I draw in a shaky breath. “You want to know what I want?”

What’s one more bad decision?

I sit up, hook an arm around his neck, and pull Memnon to me, and then I kiss him.

He tastes like sin and nostalgia. I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling him down as I fall back against my bed.

With a groan he sinks onto me, his mouth searing against mine. I’ve kissed him more than once, and yet this feels like the first true one we’ve had. His tongue strokes mine, and I remember all over again how much more electric everything is with this sorcerer.

I grind against him, feeling his rigid length trapped between us. He moves against me, and I gasp at the contact, every nerve awakening.

Goddess, how had I not noticed before that this man is pure, unadulterated sex? The muscles, the tattoos, the sheer coiled ferocity that is so tightly restrained.

This is a man who fucks. Hard.

And I am here for it.

Unfortunately, the moment I have the thought, Memnon breaks off the kiss.

His smoky-amber eyes are lust drunk as they stare down at me, and his breathing is ragged. He’s looking at my mouth like he’s about to devour me whole, and I am 100 percent on board with the prospect.

He blinks a few times, then extricates himself from my body.

I want to weep at the loss of his weight and heat. And his mouth. Especially his mouth. I want to kiss him until the sun rises.

“Sleep, my queen. You used a lot of magic and lost a lot of blood,” he says, getting off the bed. “You need sleep, not…” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Not anything else,” he finishes adamantly.

Memnon reaches for the blankets beneath me and tugs them out from under my body.

I catch his wrist. “Where are you going?” I hate that I sound desperate. I hate that this man has gone from my stalker to my savior. But the truth is this house doesn’t feel safe—not since I realized there’s a persecution tunnel that opens directly into this building.

Memnon’s expression turns fierce, even while his eyes soften. “Nowhere,” he vows. “I will stay here, in this room, watching over you and keeping you safe until you wake.”

I don’t let go of his wrist. I want him in this bed next to me. I’m positive that’s the only way I’m going to sleep at all, despite my exhaustion.

Memnon must see it in my eyes.

“Don’t ask me for things you do not mean,” he warns me again.

I do mean what I’m thinking. That’s the real problem. My intuition is telling me that this violent, wicked man is safe, and I’m too tired to disagree.

“Stay with me,” I say, tugging him closer.

Memnon takes the hand holding his wrist into his own hands, and he presses a kiss to my knuckles, closing his eyes. He looks like he’s fighting himself on something, though I cannot say what.

After a moment, he lays my hand on the bed, then presses his palm to my head.

“Sleep,” he says.

I feel the gentle brush of Memnon’s magic and then nothing else.

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CHAPTER 30

I blink my eyes open as late-morning sunlight streams into my room. I hear the distant sound of my coven sisters chatting down the hall and in the communal bathroom as they get ready for class.

I stretch, feeling Nero at my back. That’s when the pain awakens.

I groan.

Everything hurts. My arms and back and legs ache from the strain of carrying the shifter girl so far. My muscles are overtaxed, but that is nothing compared to the stabbing pain in my head and the nausea rolling through my stomach.

I overused my magic. And then I overused Memnon’s magic.

I let out another pained sound. At my back, Nero moves, and the arm that’s draped over my waist migrates to my forehead.

Wait. Arm?

I’m drawn back against a broad hard chest, and that hand turns my head so a set of lips can brush a kiss against my temple.

“Ease the pain. Remove the ache,” Memnon murmurs against my skin.

I suck in a breath at his voice. He stayed with me—I asked him to…

Last night comes back to me, even as my migraine and the rest of my bodily pains disappear.

Goddess, last night. Despite the massive amounts of memory I must’ve burned through, last night comes back to me in full detail—the spell circle, the chase, the witches I fought and the monster I shattered, the brief interaction with a man from the Marin Pack, and then Memnon.

Memnon.

Memnon carrying me. Memnon caring for me.

The whole night takes my breath away, but this last part most of all. He’s supposed to be my enemy, but nothing about last night fit that narrative. He gave me his magic, then came for me and healed me. And I kissed him. And now he’s in my bed.

Just as I think it, his fingers run through my hair. There’s something so intimate about the gesture. The fact there’s no sexual angle to it confuses me more. I’ve dabbled in physical intimacy with men, but I’m not used to…this. Intimacy without some sexual motivation.

Maybe that’s why I melt under the touch. Apparently, I really like this sort of intimacy. And irony of all ironies, it’s waking my body in an entirely different way.

“I’ve got you, est amage,” he breathes, still stroking my hair, clearly unaware that my mind is in the gutter.

I flip around, wincing a little as I feel the faintest twinge through my various muscles.

My eyes meet his. His hair is mussed from sleep. It’s disarming, and it makes him look a smidge less intimidating.

But just a smidge.

Memnon lost his shirt somewhere between last night and this morning, and from this close, I can say with absolute authority that his body is a masterpiece, coiled muscles stacked on coiled muscles. The tattoos and scars only serve to make it look that much more lethal and appealing.

I force my gaze up to his.

“You stayed,” I say.

He runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and the action is so goddess-damned sexy. He is so goddess-damned sexy.

“Of course I stayed,” he says, as though there was never another option. My blood heats at the fervency in his voice.

I want to touch him. Everything in me wants to touch and feel and mark and claim this man who looks like my own personal wet dream. Before I can act on any of these fantasies, the arm around my waist drags me forward, and then his mouth is on mine.

Memnon’s kisses, I’m coming to discover, are just as intense as every other part of him. His mouth moves over mine almost frantically. He kisses me like he may lose me at any moment.

“Little witch,” he says against my lips, “you cannot look at me like that and expect me to keep my mouth to myself.” The sentiment is punctuated by another devastating sweep of his mouth.

I eagerly meet each stroke of his lips with my own.

“You taste so fucking good, mate,” he says. “And you feel real like nothing else has since I woke.” He gathers me closer—

Off to the side of the bed, my phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. I bite back several colorful curses as I pull away.

Reluctantly, Memnon lets me go, but the look in his eyes makes it clear that he’s not done with me.

I trip out of bed, belatedly aware that I’m still only in a bra and undies and Memnon is getting an eyeful. I reach for last night’s bloody, shredded pants, where the sound of my phone is coming from. It’s only as I’m digging the phone out of my jeans that I realize I had it with me the entire time last night. Not that I had a spare moment to place a call between the witches and the clay creature.

“Hello?” I say, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Selene Bowers?” the voice on the other end says.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Officer Howahkan. We had a meeting scheduled for a half hour ago, but you never showed.”

My stomach drops. “What meeting?” What does the Politia want with me?

There’s a pause on the line. “We wanted to follow up and ask you a few more questions regarding the death of Miss Evensen.”

I know Charlotte was killed, but—

“I’m sorry, but what does her death have to do with me?”

There’s another long stretch of silence, long enough for me to realize that whatever the officer is talking about, I should remember it.

“You discovered her body,” he finally says.

“What?” I nearly yell into the phone. I was the one who found Charlotte’s body?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Memnon watching me like a hawk. I cross my arms over my chest and turn away from him, feeling like between my exposed flesh and this conversation, he’s seeing entirely too much of me.

There’s more tense silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, staring down at the scuffed-up floorboards. “I… My magic eats my memories.” I draw in a long breath. “Did I really find a body?”

I glance over my shoulder at Memnon, but he wears an unreadable expression.

Another pause from the officer. “Yes.”

I almost don’t believe him. I know there’s been a string of killings recently—I do remember that—I even remember running with Sybil and seeing the crime scene tape for one such killing—but to hear I actually discovered one of the bodies? That seems like too big a memory for my magic to expunge.

I head over to my desk, where my planner is laid out. But I don’t even know what day to look at.

Why do I not know what day it is?

“What’s today’s date?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“It’s October fifteenth.”

I find today’s date, and sure enough, there’s a 10:00 a.m. interview with the Politia written into it.

Hell’s fucking spells.

“Can I come over now?” I ask

“That’s fine.” The officer sounds like he’s beyond ready to end this call. “We’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone, still staring at my planner, a scowl on my face.

“Little witch, your memory…”

I glance over at Memnon, who’s now sitting up in my bed, looking completely at home and entirely out of place.

His eyes are exceedingly soft as they search mine. “It has left you defenseless.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I am not defenseless.”

He scowls at me. “I have spent my entire life strategizing. I know a vulnerable position when I see one.”

I glare at him. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Not this one, no, but your last one…I have it memorized by heart.”

The look he’s giving me is too intense.

“I’m not Roxilana.” Of course, I remember that random name and not, you know, the dead body I apparently discovered some time ago.

Memnon doesn’t say anything to that, and his expression gives nothing away. I can’t say what his feelings are on the topic.

But that’s an issue for another time.

I turn my attention back to my planner. There are other things written in it, like the Samhain Witches’ Ball, which is two weeks from now, that I’ve literally never heard of. And then there’s a paper due on Wednesday on the use of fresh versus dried ingredients in spellwork. Sounds boring as shit, and maybe that’s why I have no recollection of the thing.

I flip to the previous week, and I read off everything I scheduled. To my horror, I can only remember a couple of events, like the lycanthrope party I attended with Sybil. But even that memory is mostly gone; only the end of the evening stands out, when Memnon attacked Kane. The dozen or so other events I wrote in might as well be for someone else; I recognize none of them.

I make a small noise. Has the memory loss ever been this bad?

“What’s the matter?” Memnon’s voice is right behind me. I jolt at the sound of it. I don’t know how he managed to sneak up on me.

I turn and get an eyeful of his chest.

“Selene?”

I glance up at him. Gone is the vicious man I’ve come to know. He looks genuinely concerned.

“My memories over the past week,” I say softly. “Most of them are gone.”

My hands shake, and my eyes well with tears.Damn it, I’m not going to cry. I saved a girl’s life last night. What are a few memories compared to that?

This is why I have my system in place. I’ll figure it out.

I let out a pathetic sniffle, one that Memnon had to hear.

“Ugh,” I say, swallowing. “I’m sor—”

Memnon gathers me to him, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t finish that sentence, little witch. You don’t ever need to apologize to me—not for this.”

My face is pressed against his massive chest, his body enveloping mine. I don’t let myself overthink the moment; instead, I wrap my arms around his torso and hold him close. It feels so good to be held.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “For your magic—and bringing me back here.”

Only now is it really registering that he stayed at my side the entire night. And hell must’ve frozen over because all I feel right now is relief that this terrifying human kept me safe.

He squeezes me tighter.

Unlike the past week, the events of last night are still very vivid, and the longer I’m in his arms, the more my mind drifts to them. I have a fuzzy memory of a shifter taking the girl—Cara—from me, but where is she now? Is she okay?

I’m not sure how to even go about finding out.

Then there was that monster. I can’t even begin to fathom what it actually was or how it was sentient. Only that the priestess seemed to control it.

I don’t even know if I actually destroyed it; the priestess managed to repair it once. Perhaps it could be repaired again.

Then I remember the witches who confronted me in the forest and in that odd grimoire room.

Then the rest of the night’s carnage comes back.

Nero tore chunks out of several of them. Those he didn’t, the lamassu attacked.

I can still see the witches’ slumped forms lying in the woods.

“My attackers…” I begin.

One of Memnon’s hands moves to my chin, and he tilts my face up to his.

“You don’t have to worry about that. They’re being dealt with.”

I go still. “What do you mean ‘they’re being dealt with’?” My breath is coming in shallower and shallower pants.

There’s a calculating gleam in his eyes. “I told you last night to mark your enemies. The ones you did mark, I found. What I do with them now…you don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

His words, which I think were supposed to be placating, only serve to spike my anxiety.

“Who are you?” My gaze searches his.

He smiles at me again, and there’s a vicious edge to it, despite the softness in his eyes. “You already know who I am. You may be the only person who truly knows, est amage.” My queen.

I push away from him then and run my hands through my hair. “I need to speak with the Politia, and I need a shower and to change—and breakfast would be nice.”

Memnon stares down at me, and the affectionate look in his eyes is unsettling. I sense that last night changed things between us for him as well.

“My spell took away your pain, but you need to rest, Selene.” Already, he’s trying to turn me around and steer me back to my bed. “I will bring you breakfast. The Politia can wait.”

Crap. You let an ancient supernatural king stay with you for one night and lend you his power, and suddenly, he gets all bossy and presumptuous.

Going to need to nip this in the bud.

“Um”—I put a hand on Memnon’s chest, my insides squealing at his warm skin and hard muscles—“no.”

That sparkle in Memnon’s eyes is still there, but he definitely looks irritated. “What, exactly, are you disagreeing with?”

I huff out a breath. “Listen, I don’t know how they did things back when they were busy inventing the wheel, but you don’t get to tell me what to do. Also—” I give his chest a gentle shove. He doesn’t so much as budge. “Last night and this morning were nice, but now you have to go.”

Maybe if I hustle him out fast enough, we won’t have to discuss the fact I’m seriously in his debt for all the magic he lent me.

Memnon narrows his eyes at me, though the corner of his mouth curls upward. He parts his lips to speak.

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “You don’t get to say whatever evil little thought gave you that look. Just”—another little push that gets me nowhere—“scoot.”

Memnon catches my hands, trapping them against his chest. Very deliberately, he steps into my space, and I am suddenly very aware of his naked torso and my skimpy lingerie.

“I will leave you on one condition, mate.”

I grind my teeth. I didn’t realize getting a sorcerer out of my room required conditions.

“You must vow to keep yourself safe.”

That’s…I guess I can do that. “I swear I’ll keep myself safe,” I say. Then I force a big fake smile. “Good?”

Memnon’s gaze drops to my lips, and those eyes narrow again. But after a moment, he nods at my words. And now he’s giving me that affectionate look again. It makes my skin heat and my core clench.

He releases my hands, but just as soon as they’ve left, his mouth finds mine, kissing me with all the command of the warlord king he claims to be.

I melt against those lips, the taste of him intoxicating. My hands fall to his waist, and I draw my fingers over his tattoos.

This man is one big walking Bad Idea, and I’m learning from last night that I have a weakness for them.

Memnon pulls away. He drags the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. “Keep your vow, little witch,” he says.

With one final soft look, the sorcerer leaves me.

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CHAPTER 31

“What were you doing out in the Everwoods on the night of October tenth?” Officer Howahkan asks, staring at me across the white table, his long dark hair pulled back in a braid.

The interrogation room is small, plain—it looks like every other bland, ominous interrogation room I’ve seen on TV. The only difference is that the walls of this one are lined with spells. They shimmer and jiggle a little when I focus on them.

I’ve only been in the Politia’s interrogation room for five minutes, but I already feel the magic on those four walls closing in on me.

“I can’t remember,” I say.

I reach a hand down and stroke my familiar. Nero bumps my hand, giving me the courage I so desperately need.

I still haven’t reported what happened last night, and now I’m not sure whether I should. Except for Kasey, I don’t know the names of the witches who attacked me.

Officer Howahkan sighs. “In your earlier testimony, you said the following: ‘He tracked blood into my room. When I realized it wasn’t his, I decided to follow the trail back to its source.’ Do you deny that now?” The officer glances up from his notes, his eyes piercing.

“No, I’m sure I knew what I was talking about at the time.”

The officer gives me a foul look, like I’m giving him an attitude. “Yet you can no longer tell me anything about the incident.”

“I can’t remember anything about it,” I clarify. “I’m not trying to withhold memories from you on purpose.”

Officer Howahkan holds my gaze. Despite the enchantments in the room that compel me to speak the truth, I get the distinct impression he doesn’t believe me.

His eyes drop to Nero. “That’s your familiar?”

Nero stares up at the officer, looking wholly unamused with this situation.

“Yeah, he is,” I say.

“He’s a panther?”

“Yes…” Don’t know where this is going.

“I imagine your panther hunts in those woods.”

My brows come together. “Are you accusing my familiar of killing Charlotte?” The thought is horrifying.

I put a hand on said panther.

“No,” the officer says emphatically. “A human killed the witch, not an animal. But still, I’m curious about the order of events you describe in your original testimony.”

“The order of events?” I echo.

“You say you saw blood and followed your familiar back to a body. One could rearrange that timeline to suggest you came from the body to your room, then discovered your familiar dragged evidence back to your doorstep, so you returned and reported the incident to make yourself look innocent.”

I can’t seem to take a full breath of air, and I feel myself paling.

“Are you suggesting I killed this woman?” I whisper, horrified.

I thought this was just some routine questioning.

Officer Howahkan shakes his head. “As a homicide investigator, I have to cast doubt on every single person and look at the evidence from all angles. Unfortunately, your memory loss doesn’t help clear you.”

“I didn’t choose to erase these memories,” I say hotly. “I don’t get that luxury, something you’d know if you pulled any of my files from Peel Academy or from Henbane Coven.

“You want my alibi?” I fish my planner out of my bag. “Here, you can look at this.” I plop the thing on the table.

Officer Howahkan slides it over to his side, and after a moment, he thumbs through it.

He stops on a particular day and studies the notes I have written down.

“There’s nothing here that covers the time of the murders,” he says.

“I have other planners,” I respond. I usually have several going at once. This is just my most functional one. “I don’t have them with me, but I could bring them here if you need them.”

My nerves fray as it settles in: I’m a suspect in a murder investigation.

The officer slides the planner aside. “Let’s move away from Miss Evensen’s case for a moment, shall we?”

I exhale, then nod.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve seen one of these murdered witches, is it?” he says.

I tilt my head a little as Officer Howahkan flips through the papers on his clipboard and taps something he sees. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He grabs a pen and again taps the sheet of paper he’s looking at. “I see here that you were interviewed at the scene of one of the other murders.”

My breath catches as I remember there was something with Sybil. I have a murky memory of crime scene tape and the forest around Henbane, but as I reach for more, I…I think I might’ve seen something, but maybe my mind is just making that up? I can’t be certain.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I—” The spells on the room won’t allow me to say I don’t remember because, technically, I do have a little memory. “I think there was something in the woods behind Henbane—I remember the yellow tape—but there’s really not anything else.”

“So this memory is gone too?” His gaze is steady on me, steady and accusing. “That seems awfully convenient.”

“No,” I respond, “considering we’re talking about clearing my name, I’d say it’s rather inconvenient.”

Officer Howahkan’s eyes continue to linger on me for a beat too long before his attention returns to his papers. “It says here that you and a woman named Sybil Andalucia were jogging on a trail that bisected the crime scene. One of my colleagues stopped and questioned you.”

I’m at the mercy of those notes; I have no recollection of the incident.

I lift a shoulder. “My friend and I sometimes go for a morning run.” When we’re feeling particularly empowered—or self-punishing. “But I don’t remember that one in particular.”

“Hmm,” he replies. “Seems as though you were in the wrong place at the wrong time on two different occasions,” he says.

A sick feeling churns in my stomach at the underlying insinuation—that maybe this was no coincidence at all.

This is just what investigators do, I try to tell myself. They press at cracks, knowing only the suspicious break.

Except memory loss makes me particularly brittle, guilty or not.

For a moment, I peer into the dark spots of my own mind, questioning myself. I cannot know what I have forgotten.

Officer Howahkan must sense the direction of my thoughts because he sets his clipboard aside and leans forward, folding his hands in front of him. “Ms. Bowers, I am going to ask you a hypothetical question. This is not an accusation; I am just curious: Could it be possible you were involved with these deaths and simply don’t remember?”

The mere thought makes the room tilt. I feel light-headed and queasy with unease.

I shake my head, forcing down my rising panic. “That’s not who I am,” I say hoarsely.

“How do you truly know?”

How do you truly know?

I rub my arms, his words making me feel dirty from the inside out. “My mind and my conscience aren’t the same thing. I can forget what I’ve done without forgetting who I am.”

Of course I didn’t kill those women.

But you might have killed some last night, my mind whispers. And Memnon may be finishing the job right at this moment.

“Am I being accused of murder?” I say softly, my insides all twisted. “Because if I am, I need a lawyer.”

Officer Howahkan shakes his head, sitting back in his seat. “No, Ms. Bowers, we were merely entertaining another hypothetical.”

“Right,” I say warily.

“Well, Ms. Bowers, that’s all we need for now. Can we keep this planner of yours?” he asks, tapping his fingers on it.

I open my mouth to agree but then hesitate. “I need that for class.” To be honest, I need it for everything. I have my life in there, and judging by how many memories I recently lost, I’m going to rely on it more than ever. “I can stay longer if you want to make photocopies of it or take pictures of my entries.”

Officer Howahkan nods. “We’ll do that. You said there were more of these?” he asks.

I nod.

“Would you be open to letting us see those if the need arises?”

If I become a major suspect, he means.

I chew my lower lip. “That’s fine.” I mean, sharing my notebooks is no small thing—the thought of officers handling them and reading them and possibly keeping them as evidence has my anxiety spiking, but I also don’t want to seem guilty.

Because I’m not. I’d know if I were.

I think.

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