Текст книги "Bewitched"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

I move my gaze to Memnon’s broad chest, which is covered in scale armor. Unlike his physical form, the armor he wears appears brittle and tarnished. His leather trousers and boots look even worse off, the clothing rotted away completely in certain places. The tunic he wears beneath the armor is all but gone. Only the sheathed dagger at his hip looks like it’s in decent condition—that and the golden rings he wears.

My love…

My gaze snaps back to Memnon’s face, my breath leaving me at the endearment. I’m sure it wasn’t meant for me, but I’m moved by it all the same.

As I stare at him, I feel the strangest sort of longing, like my heart is shattering and reforming.

I lift a hand, reaching for him. Whatever force drove me here now desperately wants to touch this man—Memnon the Cursed.

Free him, my mind whispers. Rouse him from his deathless sleep.

When my hand is a hair’s breadth from Memnon’s face, I hesitate, remembering myself for a moment. But then I’m sucked under the spell of this place and the magic surrounding us. Tentatively, I press my fingertip to the edge of that scar near his eye.

I bite back a yelp when the skin gives beneath my fingers. It has the icy chill of death clinging to it, but it’s—it’s supple the way living skin is.

Slowly, I trace the scar, following the line of it to his ear, then down, to the edge of his jaw. My hand brushes against his hair, and there is an ache in me so deep. So, so deep.

Free me…little witch…please…

The sound of his voice only sharpens that ache.

How long I have waited…for you…only you…

I place my hand against the man’s cheek, ignoring the way that inky-blue magic is filling up this room and that shrewd little voice inside my head is screaming at me to run from this place.

Instead, I draw in a sharp breath, then speak a single command in the same language that surrounds us. “Obat’iwavak.”

Wake.

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CHAPTER 7

Wind tears through the chamber, nearly extinguishing the torches. A scream rises, and another voice fills the room.

What have you done? it wails.

I pull my hand from the man’s cheek, blinking away the strange daze that’s shrouded me ever since my plane crashed.

What am I doing?

Before I can come up with an answer, the man’s eyes snap open.

I stumble back, a hand going to my mouth to muffle my scream.

His irises are a beautiful brown color—dark along the outside edge and light like bourbon on the inside. His pupils dilate as they take me in.

Memnon draws a deep breath, his chest finally rising. As he does so, several scales from his armor slide off his chest, clinking as they fall.

“Roxilana,” the man breathes, still staring at my face.

My breath catches at his voice. It’s no longer echoing and disembodied, and the rough, human quality makes it all the more intimate.

If longing were a sound, this would be it.

His eyes seem to devour my form. “You found me. Saved me.” He’s still speaking in the same language written on the walls. I don’t know what it is or why I understand it.

Memnon sits up, and dozens more metal scales fall from his chest.

I take a step back, then another.

He places his hands on the lip of the stone coffin and rises.

Oh, Great Goddess, he’s getting out.

In one fluid movement, he steps out of the sarcophagus. His clothes slide off his body, and his scale armor falls like rain to the ground, tinkling as it goes.

The undead man doesn’t seem to notice any of it; his eyes stay fixed on me.

I, however, do notice—both because it leaves him naked and because his exposed skin is covered in strange stylized tattoos, the images mirroring that of the artwork around me. Animals and flowers twist up his arms and spill onto his chest and neck. More wrap around his calves and climb his thighs. There are a few others sprinkled onto his lower abs, and there may be more on his back that I can’t see. It looks like the ink is slowly closing in on him from his outer extremities to the very center of him.

He strides toward me, staring at me like I’m his oxygen, completely oblivious to the fact he’s mostly naked, save for the few remnants of armor and clothing that cling to him like linen wrappings.

“I knew you would come, my queen.” The air stirs around him with his magic, it fills the space and brushes against me. “I knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. A love like ours defies everything.”

His words evoke images I can’t make sense of. I see miles and miles of grass stretching in every direction. I hear the snapping of tents in the wind, the clopping of hooves. There’s skin on mine, flickering lamplight, and a voice in my ear. I am yours forever…

The images slide away as quickly as they come.

“Vak zuwi sanburvak,” I say, not needing my magic to respond to him in the same language. It’s there, buried in my bones. You are mistaken.

“Mistaken?” He laughs, and holy shit, whoever or whatever this man is, he’s got a really nice laugh.

He steps up to me and cups my face, and I’m taken aback by how proprietary the touch is. Not to mention the way he’s looking at me.

“I’m not…I don’t know you.” The words don’t exactly match up with their English translations. Whatever old language this is, the lexicon doesn’t even focus on the same things English does. I feel like a different person when I speak it.

“You don’t know me?” His lips twist into a playful smile. “Come now, what sort of game is this, Roxilana?” His eyes twinkle, and he really doesn’t give a shit that he’s naked right now.

I wrap my hands around his wrists, ready to push him away. But at the contact, he lets out a ragged exhale, closing his eyes briefly.

“Your touch, Roxi. How I have yearned for it. I was caught in a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.” He opens his eyes, his expression painfully raw. “Long I have languished. Through it all, I held on to the hope that you would come and save me, my queen.”

Okay, something is very, very wrong here. I’m not this Roxilana, nor am I a queen or an empress. And I’m definitely not his.

I open my mouth to say this very thing when Memnon leans and kisses me.

I suck in a sharp breath.

What in the ever-loving hell?

A naked and newly resurrected man is kissing me.

That thought has barely registered when his lips part mine like I’m a lock and he’s the key. And then I taste him.

He should taste like cobwebs and rotting corpses—but if anything, I swear I taste heavy, decadent wine on his tongue.

My hands move from his wrists to his pecs, my touch knocking away a few more pieces of scale armor. I have every intention of pushing him away, but his tongue strokes mine in the most carnal way, and my fingers decide to dig into his skin instead.

He groans at the pressure, stepping in closer, his naked thigh brushing my clothed one.

And…unwittingly, I kiss him back.

He makes another sexy-as-sin noise and pulls me flush against him, kissing me like he’ll die if he stops.

One of his hands has dropped to my waist, and now he’s toying with the edge of my shirt, and I know exactly where this will go if don’t stop it now.

It takes a whole lot of willpower to break off the kiss, and even then, my feet don’t want to move away from him.

Memnon’s still cupping my face with one of his hands, his dark eyes searching mine.

“I called to you, Roxi. For so long I called to you, but you never answered. My power grew weak, and then it slumbered, only rousing when…” He blinks, looking down at himself, then at my attire for the first time. “Am I dead?” he asks, his gaze rising to mine once more. “Are you here to lead my soul to the afterlife?”

The afterlife?

“What are you talking about?” I say. I step back, out of his embrace. “My name is Selene, not Roxi.”

His brows pull together, his mouth twisting into a frown.

This man is obviously confused. He thinks I’m someone else and that we’re somewhere else, and I don’t know enough about this entire situation to figure out how to handle it well.

His gaze moves to the writing scrawled on the walls. He narrows his eyes as he takes in the inscriptions.

I follow his gaze.

…Memnon the Cursed will sleep the sleep of gods…

…bound to this room…

…powers muted…

…memory cast from the minds of the living…

…forced to sleep…

…never aging, never dying…

I clear my throat. “I…take it you were cursed?”

When Memnon’s face returns to me, his expression has changed, hardened, that scar of his looking stark against his skin.

It takes effort not to piss myself at how frightening he appears.

“It was true, wasn’t it? It was all true. I didn’t believe Eislyn, but she was right.” He catches me by the chin and tugs me to him. “My queen, what have you done?”

“Whoever you are,” I say slowly, “you need to let go of me. Now.” Only after the words are out do I realize I spoke in English.

“What has addled your tongue?” he demands, tightening his grip. His scowl deepens. “Or is this some new language you’ve learned to curse me in?”

All around us, I see his magic thickening the air.

“Whatever it is you have done to me, wife,” he says, pulling me in close. “I vow to you that it will not happen again.” Despite his nearness, there’s no warmth to his touch. Only a punishing sort of possessiveness.

His power closes in on me, and I sense he’s readying some awful spell.

Shit, shit, shit.

I push at him, but this time, Memnon doesn’t release me.

“Let me the fuck go!” Apparently, I can curse in this language.

Cool beans, I guess.

He laughs low, the sound raising the hairs on my arms. “Let you go? Oh no, no, little witch, you’re not going anywhere.”

The man says something too low for me to hear, but I feel his magic rise.

“Not now that I’ve caught you. You thought to curse me?” He shakes his head, though I see betrayal blazing in his eyes. “I will make you pay for what you have done for the rest of our days.”

He steps in close and presses his mouth to mine. I fight against the kiss, but it’s not actually a kiss at all.

Memnon’s power swarms around us. I feel it slipping down my throat and coiling in my lungs.

“Sleep,” he murmurs against my lips.

And the world goes dark.

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CHAPTER 8

I blink my eyes once, twice, three times.

Above me is the rough surface of an earthen ceiling. I’m lying on my back, and my cheek is wet. I reach a hand to my face just as a big abrasive tongue licks it.

My familiar. Nero.

“Hey,” I say softly, sitting up.

I rub my eyes. There’s a foggy feeling in my mind, one that often accompanies missing sections of time.

I do, however, remember Nero.

My familiar butts his head against my chin, purring a little as he steps in close.

“I’m okay,” I say softly, my voice a little hoarse. “I think.”

He pushes himself to his paws, gives me another brief lick on my cheek, then walks away. Pretty sure that was panther for there, there, now get the fuck up.

Shakily, I stand, glancing around me. I remember this room, with its strange writing and even stranger carvings. I remember tromping through the rainforest to get here.

My eyes fall on the open sarcophagus, its lid broken on the floor beside it. Nearby I see the shredded remains of the scale-mail armor.

And I remember Memnon, with his bourbon eyes and fantastical tattoos and terrifying scar.

I will make you pay for what you have done.

I have that big bad feeling inside of me. Something isn’t right. Something is deeply not right.

“Memnon?” It comes out as a whisper. I’m not even sure I want the man’s attention. Not after he veered from passionate desire to enraged betrayal.

Save for the soft hiss of the torches, the chamber is quiet. Quiet and gloomy.

I think he’s gone.

I look at the walls and the text that runs rampant across them. This was a place filled with spells meant to seal “Memnon the Cursed” in. And it had done a damn good job of it until I came along.

My gaze returns to the broken sarcophagus lid. I can still see the warning scrawled across it.

For the love of your gods, beware of me.

I press my palms into my eyes.

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

I released something better left buried. And now I have no idea where he is or why he thinks I’m…his.

My queen… A love like ours defies everything… I am yours forever…

I rub my temples.

That alone would be problematic, but no, he’s also convinced I fucked him over.

Ugh.

All at once I have the pressing, claustrophobic need to flee this place. I stumble across the room, then down the long hallway. The magic that filled this space is mostly gone; I feel the hollow throb of its absence. All that’s left are the few tattered remains of spells. They may be enough to ward off people who venture close by, but it’s not nearly enough to put Memnon back in that box.

At least he’s not here.

Halfway down that curving hallway, I stop. Nero already rests at the foot of the staircase. But the sunlight that should be shining on the steps above him is gone.

Shit, shit, shit.

Is it nighttime already?

I rush over to the stairs, the decorated walls mocking me with one name that stands out over and over.

Memnon.

Memnon.

Memnon.

Goddess, but this guy sucks big time. I trip up the stairs, Nero following me. It’s only as I near the top that I notice it’s not actually nighttime at all. Or maybe it is—there’s no way of knowing for sure because our exit is now covered by a stone slab. In the dim light, I can just make out the spell that covers it, the magical threads a familiar midnight-blue color.

Just by the way the power coats the slab and oozes around its seams, I can tell it’s a containment spell.

“Fuck.”

I glance back at Nero. “Got any ideas on how to lift this thing?”

He gazes back at me, his tail twitching. I swear the big cat is giving me a look that says, You’re a fucking witch. Spellcraft that shit. But you know, I’m probably just reading into my cat’s expressions too much.

Regardless, I admit, “I’m afraid that if I use more magic, it’ll cost me too many memories.”

Nero stares at me for several long seconds, then turns around, descends the stairs, and flops down in the hallway, as though he expects to just…remain locked in here.

“Nice show of faith in me!” I call after him. To myself, I mutter, “You show a cat one ounce of vulnerability, and they assume you’re a chickenshit.”

Which, full disclosure, I am. Still, I don’t need judgment like that from my familiar.

I turn back to the stone slab above me. Doing nothing isn’t really an option. Nero and I are lucky to have been left here unharmed, but what if the monster comes back?

And shit, what if he doesn’t?

What if he left us here to die?

Fear closes my throat.

My memory isn’t endless, and if I overuse my magic, I don’t know what exactly will happen. That’s the ominous event horizon.

It won’t happen today. I vow that to myself. I will get us out of here. Whatever it takes.

I focus once more on the spell. It gives off a glittering sort of light. Unlike the wild plumes of it that I saw earlier, in this form, Memnon’s power looks like some indecipherable writing, all of it made by one continuous magical thread. It looks as though it were drawn onto the stone slab above me.

After a moment, I reach out and touch it. It’s ever so slightly warm, and I find that, oddly enough, I like the feel of it. I stroke the thread, feeling my way around the spell. Definitely a containment ward; I can sense Memnon’s intent woven into the magic. Stay and keep seem to be the overriding words coming off it.

Though it’s not the time or place, I can’t help but wonder what sort of supernatural he is. There are many who can wield magic, and though there are ways to tell the difference through spells themselves, I don’t know them.

My fingers linger on the ward, and as I muse, the intricately wrought thread jiggles and shifts until it eventually moves from its fixed position. The shimmery blue cord coils itself around my middle finger. The spell slithers down my hand, winding around my wrist like a makeshift bracelet.

It’s as though the magic likes the feel of my skin every bit as much as I like the feel of it.

I stare at it, half in horror and half in awe.

“This is so weird,” I murmur, watching the spell unmake itself as it moves onto my skin.

I should be worried about touching it. It’s obvious enough now that this magic belongs to Memnon, the creature I freed from this…prison. Everything about him seems volatile, his magic included. And yet it doesn’t eat away at my skin, nor has my touch invoked some secondary spell. It simply peels itself away from the stone and gathers on my hand and wrist until eventually, the entire spell has migrated onto my skin. There it lingers for a few seconds before dissipating.

The magic broke its own spell.

“So, so weird,” I murmur again.

Once the magic has completely dissolved, I eye the stone slab once more. I lean my shoulder against it and push, but it doesn’t so much as budge.

Below me, Nero yawns, flashing his canines and making a sound that would be cute if it weren’t a direct insult to my ability to bust us out of this joint.

I back down two steps and raise my arm, baring my palm to the slab.

“Lift this stone and cast it aside. Let me see what lies outside.”

My magic pours from my hand and coats the slab, and then the massive stone lurches upward, then drags itself aside.

I stare at the dying light above me with both relief and a sense of foreboding. Nero and I are free, but now it’s nearly night.

Night. Alone in the jungle. Where there is a plethora of predators—and among them, an ancient, vengeful supernatural.

I shrink back a little. The deepening shadows beyond the tomb’s entrance would be a perfect place for Memnon to lie in wait.

Nero, however, has no such reservations. Now that we’re free, the panther slinks past me, picking his way through the ruins.

I hesitate for only a few seconds longer before gathering my courage—and my magic—and stepping out of the crypt.

In the dying light, the ruins look hauntingly beautiful—or maybe beautifully haunted. I can’t quite say which it is, only that the sight of them plucks at my heartstrings and makes the back of my neck tingle.

I turn and face the subterranean chamber once more. Raising my hand, I incant, “Hide what has been found. Place this secret back in the ground.”

My power sifts out of me and wraps around the stone slab. Even to my own eyes my magic looks weak and sluggish, but it still manages to drag the slab back into place, the stone settling with a thump. Nearby muddy earth tumbles and rolls back over the door, then packs itself down. A few seconds later, the ground looks as it did when I found it.

I might’ve sealed that tomb, but it doesn’t matter. The ancient menace it housed is now free.

And I’m at the top of his shit list.

I must not forget about this, I coach myself. I must not forget.

As soon as I’m back to civilization, I’ll commit an entire sketchbook to this experience, and then I’ll make copies of that book and stash them around, so I don’t ever forget that I woke up something I should not have.

I make my way through the ruins. A few tenacious spells still cling to toppled stones and crumbling walls. The place pricks at my skin. It feels unnatural– too imbued with magic that has grown wild over time.

I rub my arms, eager to leave. And yet, every so often, I pause and glance around, trying to figure out what this structure once was, curious to dig through what little rubble remains just to see what I might find. There’s an unnamable feeling running through me, the same sort of feeling certain dreams can give you, the ones you can’t seem to shake.

Perhaps it’s because this place seems so dreamlike to begin with—enchanted ruins lying in an untamed paradise. And there’s a part of me that’s sad to walk away from it, even knowing that it was a supernatural prison of sorts.

I make my way back over to the riverbank, where Nero is lapping up water. I take in my surroundings in the fading light.

Good news: my boat isn’t gone.

Bad news: because the universe hates me, it’s in the middle of the fucking river.

I wade in, too annoyed at my situation to even be scared of what may lurk in the water.

“Fuck this trip. Fuck this place. And most of all, fuck that tit-gobbling whore, Memnon.”

My entire body throbs from magical overuse, but I still manage to scrape up enough power to blow the boat to shore.

Something brushes against my leg, and I zap it. “Don’t mess with me now, fish!” I yell at the water. “Today is not the day!”

After an absurd amount of time and effort, the hulking garbage can of a boat reaches me. It’s nothing more than a dark smudge on the water, now that sunset has given way to twilight.

At the sight of the vessel, Nero pads over, then hops in before I do. It’s only when I hear a wet squish that I remember there’s a dead snake carcass on our boat.

Awesome. Really stoked to board this thing.

I have to take a few deep breaths. It could be worse—I could’ve forgotten there was a dead snake and stepped on it. Or my earlier repairs to the dinghy could’ve given out and sunk the thing. Or the boat could’ve drifted away altogether.

So I delicately situate myself on the dinghy and force out more magic to blow the boat across the river.

It’s only once we’re nearly to the other side that I realize I have no idea where the crashed plane is or how I’m supposed to get back to it from here.

Hell’s spells.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

A minute later it begins to rain.

The universe definitely hates me today.

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