Текст книги "Bewitched"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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CHAPTER 44

I lie in the arms of my enemy.

My soul mate.

My future husband.

I stare up at him tiredly as my vision clears.

Memnon brushes my hair back from my face, a soft look on his own. I guess victory has gentled him.

Around us, guests gasp for air.

I whisper, “Is everyone—?”

“Alive?” Memnon finishes for me.

I nod.

“Yes. They are all alive and well.”

I relax a little. He made good on his end of the deal—he released these supernaturals from certain death.

Which means I’ll have to uphold my end. I grimace at the thought.

The sorcerer’s hands slip under my body, and he rises from the floor, lifting me with him.

“My fierce queen,” he murmurs, clutching me close. I don’t have it in me to fight this embrace. My body is shaking; my mind is frayed. “You are a warrior at heart. I couldn’t be prouder. I may have defeated you tonight, but you have honored yourself and honored me by battling so valiantly.”

I’m going to marry this man. That thought echoes on repeat. He nearly killed a room full of people, and somehow that earned him everything he most desperately wanted.

“Selene!” Sybil’s panicked voice carries through the crowd.

“Sybil,” I call back, my voice wispy and feeble. My friend sounds shaken but okay.

Memnon glances up, his expression turning cold once more as he takes in Sybil and the rest of the guests. Their eyes are frightened, their bodies huddled in on themselves.

The sorcerer’s magic sweeps out of him and over the room. Before I can ask what spell he just cast, I see shattered glass lift from the ground and reform in their original panes. Trees and shrubs that were knocked askew now straighten and re-root, and their scattered soil returns to the gardening beds. Shattered coupe glasses repair themselves, their spilled contents returning to the delicate cups before the cups themselves float back into various guests’ hands.

Most astounding of all are the guests themselves. They blink and look around, their former fear transformed into confusion.

The sight of Memnon using all that magic after I spent nearly every drop of mine makes my nausea rise. I was never going to win this battle.

“Selene!” Sybil calls out again. This time, however, her voice is gentle and worried.

I catch sight of my friend, her long hair cascading over her dress as she hurries over, eyeing Memnon with suspicion but not fear.

What did he do to her mind and everyone else’s here? No one is screaming at him, and though we’re drawing a few curious looks, it seems to be because Memnon and I are disheveled, and he’s holding me like I’m his war prize.

Which, unfortunately, I kind of am.

“Are you okay?” Sybil asks, her eyes landing on various parts of me where there must be some scrape or smudge.

No. I want to weep. I’m not okay at all.

“I’m…fine.” I force the words out. “I just…twisted my ankle.” I give a weak laugh, one that sends a bolt of pain shooting beneath my skull. “This is why I don’t wear heels.”

Sybil frowns, searching my face. When her gaze moves to Memnon, it snags on the bloody bit of shirt peeking out above my body. Her expression hardens with loathing.

“You’re Memnon, aren’t you?” she says. “I knew I’d be able to pick you out of the crowd.”

She said something earlier about this, hadn’t she? Something that made me laugh, but I can’t quite grasp it now…

“Go back to the dance.” Memnon gives the words a magical push, and Sybil backs up.

“If you’re sure you’re okay,” she says, her brows drawing together. She’s fighting Memnon’s magic, her eyes lingering on me.

“I am,” I rasp out, the lie tasting bitter as it leaves my lips.

She hesitates a few more seconds before finally turning around and rejoining a larger group of witches, as though nothing were amiss.

Almost everyone else is regaining their bearings.

“What the hell was in that witch’s brew?”

“What just happened?”

“Did I miss something?”

“Was that supposed to be part of the evening?”

There’s a smattering of laughter, and though I notice a few supernaturals look suspicious—I mean, we are witches, so we know a thing or two about magical interference. But overall, people are eager to get back to enjoying themselves.

“What did you do to them?” I ask, staring at the crowd.

“I wiped their memories of the past ten minutes.”

He fought me, restrained and suffocated a room full of supernaturals, then partially removed their memories, and he still looks primed for battle.

The sheer quantity of power at this man’s disposal is terrifying.

“You can’t keep compelling people to do what you want,” I say, my voice weak with my fatigue.

“You keep forgetting, est amage. I hold the power, which means I get to do what I want,” Memnon says back, his eyes drinking me in.

My stomach dips at the look he gives me, and if I had more energy, I would snarl and rage that my own reaction to him hasn’t been blunted by his recent actions.

“Where are we going?” I ask as the sorcerer carries me out the main doors and into the night.

“Back to your room, where you and I will lift the curse. We do also have a wedding to plan.”

Oh, how I loathe this fucker.

I narrow my eyes. “Gloating isn’t a good look on you.”

“That’s not what you said two thousand years ago—but then, you wouldn’t remember that, would you?”

I loathe him, loathe him, loathe him.

That doesn’t stop me from leaning my heavy head against his chest, my body spent.

The sorcerer pulls me in closer, and I can’t decide if the action rankles me—he’s the reason behind my exhaustion after all—or if it softens my angry heart.

My gaze moves to the tree line, and I sense Nero lingering in the shadows there.

“She’s all right, Nero,” Memnon calls. “No need to slice me to ribbons. I’m not interested in hurting her.”

“At the moment,” I add.

He glances down at me. “Anymore,” he corrects. His eyes are steady. “No more vengeance, est amage. I set my trap and sprung it. Once you uphold your end of the agreement, I will bury the past and look to the future. I have a bride to charm after all.” At this last part, his expression shifts, turning almost mirthful.

If I had more energy, I’d lunge at him and scratch the look off his smug-ass face. Bury the past. If he had any interest in that, he wouldn’t be trying to resurrect long-lost memories.

My familiar slinks from the tree line, so stealthy and quiet that even under the light of a full moon, he’s hard to notice. When he gets to us, his ears are back and a low growl rumbles in his chest. He hisses at Memnon, flashing his fangs.

What a good kitty. I take back every rude thought I’ve ever directed Nero’s way.

“I’m not putting her down, Nero, not even for—”

Nero lunges, slashing at Memnon with his claws.

My body dips a little as the sorcerer reacts, hissing at the pain.

“Fuck, Nero. I know you love her. I do too—she’s safe with me.”

My familiar is still growling in warning, plainly pissed off. Just hearing the menace pouring off Nero, I’m sure my panther will attack Memnon again—he’s just waiting for the right moment to do so.

“It’s all right, Nero,” I say softly, reaching my hand down.

The big cat’s growls die away, and a moment later, I feel his head brush against my palm.

I pet him gently. “You are the best familiar I could ask for,” I coo, even though I’m sure Nero hates that voice. “And I am all right, I promise. Let’s plan a better time to attack Memnon, deal?” I feel the sorcerer give me a look, though I don’t bother to glance at him and see what the expression is. “For now, we can leave the bastard alone.” Enough harm has already been done this evening.

“How merciful of you, Empress,” Memnon says, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

At the sound of the sorcerer’s voice, Nero growls once more, but it eventually peters out, and when Memnon begins moving again, Nero falls into step next to him.

“Just be happy I didn’t ask him to castrate you—I think he was ready to.”

“Selene, you and I both know you are far too curious about my cock to let that ever happen.”

I glare at him. “I’m sure, like the rest of you, it’ll be a disappointment.”

If I expected Memnon to be offended by that, I thought wrong. The sorcerer lets out a surprised laugh.

“I don’t see how that’s funny.”

“Come now, Empress, you’re amusing, even when your humor is at my expense. Also, I appreciate the confirmation that you will be seeing my cock at some point in time.”

“I did not confirm…”

Crap, I did though, didn’t I? I made it sound like I would be seeing him naked in the future.

Memnon wears that same smug expression.

“Castration is still not off the table,” I insist.

“Neither is fucking, apparently,” he responds, his eyes glinting playfully.

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Though we can do it on the table as well,” he adds. “Really, anywhere that pleases you, est amage. I live to serve only you.”

My cheeks heat at his words. It doesn’t help that Memnon is holding me so close, I can feel the beat of his heart against my cheek.

I exhale, the fight still gone from me. My inside of my skull throbs from all the spent magic and the memories tithed. I lean more deeply into Memnon’s chest, uncaring that he’s taking every one of these actions as another victory. He may as well enjoy it because tonight I really did lose.

And I’m only just starting to process that.

Memnon leads us around to the front of my house, climbing up the path to the front door. We pass the stone lamassu, and though they’re threshold guardians, they don’t try to defend me against Memnon.

Except for Nero, I’m well and truly on my own.

Memnon steps up to the front door, and my heart nearly skips a beat when the Medusa door knocker moves, the snakes in her hair writhing.

“We don’t allow wicked men with dubious—”

Memnon’s blue magic slips out from him and blows into the metal Medusa’s face.

The knocker coughs as its eyes flutter shut, and the door swings open.

“That was just rude.”

Memnon’s mouth curves slightly. “I care for manners about as much as I do the law.”

He crosses the foyer and heads straight for the stairs, Nero at his feet. The place is as quiet as it ever gets. If there’s anyone still in the house, they’re sequestered away.

The floorboards creak as Memnon makes his way up the stairs and down the hall, and it may be my imagination, but I swear I can almost taste the sorcerer’s excitement.

The thought makes my pulse spike. I’ve been trying very hard not to think about what’s going to happen once we get to my room, but now that said room is in sight, I can’t fully suppress my rising nerves.

Memnon stops at my door, and using his magic, he again swings the door open before carrying me inside. After Nero slinks through, the sorcerer kicks the door shut.

He sets me down on the edge of my bed with surprising gentleness, then grabs the chair next to my bed before dragging it over to me.

I narrow my eyes at him as he sits in the chair, resting his forearms on his thighs, one of which is bloody from where Nero sliced him open.

The familiar in question comes to my side, my big cat leaning his body against my leg. I reach down to pet him, and though I’m weak from exertion and I’m sitting on my twin bed and not a throne, here in my revenge dress, with my panther at my side, I feel like a wicked queen. I hold that image close to me because there’s strength in it, strength I badly need.

“Are you ready to begin?” Memnon says. His face is placid, but his eyes have a feverish glint to them. I can see desire and excitement simmering beneath the surface.

I assume he means to lift the curse. Which, fuck no, I’m not. But then my thoughts turn to the other stipulation he had.

Marry me.

I envision this man’s skin pressed against mine, his body bearing down…

My heart thunders at the visual, and my mouth goes dry.

It’s all too vivid.

The longer I dwell on it, the more my blood heats.

I wet my lips. “When would you want to get married?”

Cannot believe I’m even asking this.

Memnon leans forward and takes my hand, clasping it between his. He is perversely beautiful, and I hate that I notice it, even now.

“Immediately,” he says.

My breath leaves me all at once. “No.”

“Yes,” he insists. “We are already bonded—your magic claimed mine the moment it manifested in you, soul mate. And though you cannot remember it, we have been married for a long, long time.”

I release a shuddering breath. “Then why bother marrying me again?” I say, throwing in one last-ditch effort to steer him away from this terrifying idea of legally binding ourselves together.

Memnon lifts a hand and strokes my cheek, the action disarmingly sweet. “Our magic has always been committed to us, but I want your deliberate commitment as well, Selene. I want to hold your hands under this sky before our old gods and your new ones, and I want us to pledge our vows.

“And even if you don’t believe in me, I want you to believe in the sanctity of our union.” He scrutinizes me with those luminous eyes of his. “And I think you will.”

I don’t know how much he knows about me—my memories in general are a bit muddled after our earlier battle—but yes, I believe in the sacredness of marriage.

Which is why I have stayed far, far away from it.

I hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance. At first, I think nothing of the sound. But then, through the bruised, aching recesses of my mind, I remember fragments of a call I had this evening. I strain to remember—

The Politia is going to arrest you.

I suck in a breath as the memory returns.

They’re going to arrest me. Tonight—right now.

Fuck.

Memnon must hear the sirens too, because he raises his eyebrows, knowledge alight in his eyes. “Oh no.” There is zero sympathy in his voice.

And why would there be? He orchestrated this entire fucking situation.

“We better lift this curse before they arrive,” he continues. “Time, after all, is almost up.”

I’m seething, but there’s one inconsistency my mind snags on. “Why marry me if I’ll just be rotting away in jail?” Because it looks like that’s where I’m headed.

Memnon’s still holding my hand, and now he gives it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about reasons, est amage. All you need to do is uphold your end of the bargain.”

I grimace at him.

There’s more he’s planned. There must be. Otherwise, the situation doesn’t make sense.

“Are you ready, est amage?”

Goddess save me, we’re going to do this. I think I may hurl.

I force myself to nod. “Let’s get this over with.”

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CHAPTER 45

Outside, Politia sirens draw closer.

“First,” Memnon says, “we must make an unbreakable oath.”

I draw my brows together as he reaches into the inner pocket of his tuxedo. “An unbreakable oath? About what?”

He gives me a look. “About what you promised me this evening. As much as I care for you, est amage, I don’t trust your word.”

From his breast pocket, Memnon pulls out a dagger with an ornamental hilt. I tense at the sight of it

Before I can further react, Memnon draws the dagger down his hand, not flinching even a little as he cuts himself open. It takes me an extra moment to remember that binding spells require blood.

And that’s what we’re doing right now. Making the agreement binding.

He wipes the blade on his pants, then hands the knife hilt first to me.

After a brief hesitation, I take it, staring down at the dagger. It’s clear the sorcerer is determined to swaddle me in promises until I’m buried so deep, there will be no possibility of escaping him.

We’ll see about that.

That’s my promise.

I drag the blade down my palm, biting my lip at the flare of pain. A line of blood springs up, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at it.

Memnon takes the knife from me while I’m distracted, then wipes it clean again before tucking it away. With his bloody hand, he reaches for my own, threading his larger, darker fingers through mine. The wound on his palm presses flush against my own, our blood mingling.

What little magic I have left rouses at the contact, tendrils of it seeping through my blood and into Memnon’s. His own magic reaches for mine, twisting around and around it.

Outside, I hear cars come to a stop, their sirens cutting off. I have minutes—if that—before they close in on me.

Memnon gives my hand a squeeze, silently urging me to speak.

I part my lips and seal my fate. “I vow before my gods and yours, that tonight I shall lift our curse, and as soon as circumstances allow, I shall marry you. I bind my life to these vows.”

My magic flares as I finish the oath, and I gasp as it melds with Memnon’s.

I glance up at the sorcerer.

He’s already looking at me, his gaze both soft…and eager.

My heart gallops, and I’m breathless, which I wish were due to my own horror and not this strange curiosity that begs me to stroke his face and give in fully to this oath I made.

“Now for your memories,” Memnon says, his voice roughened with emotion.

Outside, I can hear car doors opening and closing.

Memnon releases my hands before cupping my face. “Est amage, I know this feels like the end, but I swear to you, this is the beginning. Whatever is between us, we will lift this curse and discover it together. And we will fix it. I am still yours—forever.”

I work my jaw. There is nothing left to fix. This will be a marriage and a bond in name only.

Memnon must see or feel my intentions because his expression grows somber.

He takes my hands in his, our bloody hands pressing together once more.

“Repeat after me.” He switches languages then, his voice becoming more rolling and guttural. “The curse I placed, I now shall lift. I withdraw my will. I end my spell. I bring into balance that which I set askew.”

I echo his words, my head pounding harder and harder with each sentence.

“Reveal the memories that this curse sought to hide. For now and forever.”

I take a fortifying breath, then repeat this too. My magic churns restlessly beneath my skin, the growing pressure of it making me fidget.

Memnon and I repeat the lines once more, this time together.

“For now and forever.”

My magic explodes behind my eyes, and then—

It begins.

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CHAPTER 46

It starts with the most recent memories, this evening and then the rest of the day filling out in such detail, I nearly gasp.

It’s…it’s actually working.

There was a part of me that didn’t think it would.

The previous week comes back in all its fullness, then the week before that—and the one before that. Faster and faster, the memories return, though there’s no time to examine each one.

I see the span of my time here at Henbane Coven, and then I see my time before that.

I see myself opening Memnon’s tomb—then awakening my trapped mate. And before that, finding Nero and the harrowing plane crash I survived.

My lips have parted, and though I know Memnon is staring intently at me in the present, I’m locked in my past, my unearthed memories demanding nearly all my attention.

The past year comes back to me, and my breath comes out in shaky gasps. There was so much yearning and frustration and self-doubt as I worked to get into Henbane Coven. But there was so much self-discovery over that time too—I was able to live alone and function well in San Francisco. I had my own job and paid my own rent.

Little bits of knowledge come back to me, things I was never sure of before—like the fact I enjoy working out, despite all the bitching and moaning I do about it. And I’m a truly awful cook—my mind has unearthed so many disastrous attempts. I have been intimate with four men—Memnon included—and I’ve been on far more dates than I imagined. I’ve reread my favorite books half a dozen times each, and I really did get to relive the joy of them over and over.

My years at Peel Academy, the supernatural boarding school I attended, come back, then the memories I had of life before my power Awoke. Not even these memories were safe from the ravages of my magic.

As a child and a young teenager, I was happy, chaotic, wild. I played outside most of the day, alongside my powerful parents, who—with the help of a little magic—grew our backyard into a wild wonderland. When I wasn’t digging my hands and toes into the earth, I was painting or drawing. More shocking still, I was messy, disorganized. My room was absolute chaos, and my mom would have me recite a cleaning spell alongside her.

I remember my great-aunt Giselle, who smelled like baby powder and way too much perfume and had an opinion about literally everything, and how she passed away from cancer. My father cried for weeks after, and I thought maybe he’d never smile again, until he finally did.

Further and further back, my mind goes.

My dad taught me how to ride a bike, his meadow-green magic billowing around the wheels when I started to lose my balance. I baked and ate ginger cookies with my mom, the two of us making faces at the sharp sugary flavor.

Young, I was so young. Mom read me fairy tales, and they made me upset. Princesses don’t wear dresses—they wear trousers and shoot arrows from the backs of horses. I would know this because I’m a queen. But where’s my king? He should be here. He’s always here. Something’s wrong.

My memories grow indistinct and distorted.

I can see a tire swing. Bushes with strawberries on them, but someone said not to eat them. They looked really good, and I wanted to.

I got old words and new words confused. It was hard. My parents didn’t understand. I didn’t really either.

Long hallways. An old heavy book that seemed to make the air glitter around it. A checkered blanket, a fuzzy kitty.

I was rocked. Held. Warm arms…

The memories close, and Memnon comes into focus. His hands are no longer holding mine; instead they cup my face. When did that happen? I feel the press of his magic and mine.

The throbbing in my head has worsened.

“I remember,” I whisper.

He gives his head a shake. “No, you don’t,” he whispers. “Not everything. Not yet.”

His bloody hand presses against my cheek. And somewhere down below, the Politia hammers on the front door.

“Ready yourself, est amage—it’s coming.”

“What is—?” I choke on the last of my words.

My back arches, and my mouth parts as I stare up at the ceiling. I wrap my hands around Memnon’s wrists as my mind seems to crack, and a spell held for two thousand years dissolves.

In its wake, there is a single instant of peace. Then memories from another time, another place spill in.

It starts with fire, and blood, and screaming. These memories may be older, but they are far more terrifying than anything I have experienced.

I’m squeezing Memnon’s wrists, and I feel tears tracking down my cheeks.

He was right the whole time. I am Roxilana. She is me.

And it’s very clear that in my mind, the only true hero in this first life, the only person who loved me and fought for me, defended me and adored me, was Memnon.

Fearsome, powerful Memnon who really did kill entire armies. He loved me more than life itself, and I loved him just as fiercely.

Here in the present, his thumbs stroke my cheeks, and he murmurs reassurances. “It is all right, my love. It is all right. You are here, with me.”

But, somewhere along the way, things changed.

My life twisted and twisted, and the walls closed in on me just as the walls have closed in on me now.

And I did the unthinkable.

I betrayed my soul mate.

I shudder at the truth of it. The memories abruptly end. I gasp as the magic cuts off.

I’m vaguely aware of the Politia officers storming the stairs, their heavy footsteps thundering as they close in on my room, but I hardly care.

I can still feel the wetness of my tears and Memnon’s blood on my cheeks.

Memnon’s eyes are gentle and unguarded as he peers at me.

“Roxi?” he says softly.

The name causes a sob to slip from me. I am both old and new all at once. I have been reborn.

“You should’ve never given me those memories back,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I was better off…and so were you.”

The door bursts open, and Politia officers storm the room.

Neither Memnon nor I pay them much mind.

“Est amage,” he says, his expression growing fevered, “we will figure it out. Together. I vow to fix all my wrongs. Whatever you want, you shall have. I am yours forever.”

He tries to pull me to him then, but I’m ripped from his hold.

An officer spins me around and cuffs my wrists, even as Nero growls at the intruders.

“Selene Bowers, you are under arrest…” They keep talking, and Nero keeps growling, but I am no longer aware of anything but Memnon.

I search his eyes. “What have I done?” I whisper.

I never should’ve woken Memnon from his sleep.

I have set a monster upon the world.

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