Текст книги "Bespelled"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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I open my mouth⁠—

“It doesn’t matter what my mate meant,” a deep voice answers. “She said no. Now get the fuck off my fiancée.”

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CHAPTER 17

Memnon looms like a god behind me, his magic pressing at his back like a storm cloud as he glares down at the shifter.

“Fiancée?” Kane echoes, gazing down at me. I can’t see his features well, but from what I can make out, he looks both confused and heartbroken. “Mate?”

I swallow, glancing away.

I didn’t tell him everything about the night I was arrested, nor have I mentioned that Memnon and I are soul mates.

Memnon’s magic wraps around Kane’s body and rips the shifter off me, throwing him against a nearby tree. Kane hits it with a grunt. Before he can move away from the tree trunk, the sorcerer’s power pins him to it.

Memnon strides forward, murder in his eyes. He looks like he’s going to rip the shifter’s spine out through his chest. “If it’s not the lycanthrope who thought to touch what’s mine.”

Memnon, I am not a piece of meat to fight over.

Of course you’re not, he says smoothly down our bond. You are the reason for my existence. But I will fight over you.

“Do you remember what I told you when I saw you last?” Memnon says, stepping in close to the bound lycanthrope.

While he speaks, Memnon’s power brushes against me, wrapping around my midsection and slipping beneath my back. I think it’s supposed to be a reassuring caress, but the sensation of his magic against my overstimulated skin has me gasping.

Whoever made that brew should be arrested. This amount of arousal feels criminal.

Memnon continues, “I said that if you ever touched Selene again, I would cut off your dick and feed it to you. And what have I found here? You touching my unwilling fiancée.”

A low growl starts up in the shifter’s throat. “Unwilling? You want to talk about unwilling? You stalked Selene and broke into her room. You threatened to hurt me to get her to do your will. And now you’d have me believe she’s engaged to you?” He laughs in Memnon’s face. Kane’s eyes move to mine. “Tell me you willingly agreed to that.”

I don’t know how Kane so easily sees through this farce of an engagement.

The sorcerer’s magic is gathering; I can see the agitated ends of it lashing around him like whips, and I know he’s about to do something awful.

“Memnon, don’t hurt him,” I gasp out.

My mate doesn’t so much as flinch at the order, but his magic rapidly descends back into his body until the night air is entirely clear of it. Knowing all that violent magic is now bottled up inside the sorcerer unnerves the shit out of me.

When Memnon glances over his shoulder at me, the corner of his mouth curving up, I can tell my order doesn’t matter. He has something else up his sleeve.

“I’m guessing Selene hasn’t told you about our past?” The sorcerer faces Kane again. “Our love stretches back two thousand years. My soul mate and I have endured horrors you cannot imagine to get to this moment. You wish to compete with that, wolf?”

“I think I have a helluva lot more chance than a tool like you,” Kane says.

Memnon steps in close, his form towering over the shifter’s. “Is that right? Because I thought I heard her say fuck no to your offer—but maybe my ears are just ba⁠—”

Kane’s fist swings out, hitting Memnon square in the cheek, and the sorcerer’s head snaps to the side.

Aw fuck.

Memnon stays in that position for an extra moment. When he straightens, a little line of blood drips down from the corner of his mouth. The sorcerer smiles, the expression tugging on his scar and making him look malevolent.

“Foolish little pup. Thinking of stealing people’s mates.”

Kane hits him again.

Memnon groans, stumbling back. The shifter lunges for him, taking the sorcerer to the ground. Kane’s fist slams into the sorcerer’s face again and again. And Memnon just takes it, not even bothering to protect himself from the hits.

“Kane, stop!”

Kane lifts his head and growls in response, the alpha in him chafing against my order. He does, however, lower his fist, his chest rising and falling with his exertion.

Beneath him, Memnon’s face is a bloody mess. The sight of it causes a bolt of sheer terror to course through me.

I’m all right, little witch, he says. Healing it already.

“Why isn’t he fighting back?” Kane says, his eyes focused on Memnon. “I know this motherfucker loves to.”

I really do, Memnon says down our bond. My soul mate sounds more than a little self-satisfied, despite the fact that he just had the crap beaten out of him.

Tentatively, I move toward the two. Arousal is still soaking my panties, and honestly, the fighting did nothing but deepen the ache.

“Because I told him not to,” I say to the shifter. Of its own accord, my magic slips ahead and presses itself against Memnon’s wounds. It ignores Kane’s bloody knuckles entirely. “But if you keep hitting him, I’ll let him have at you, and, Kane,” I say softly, “you don’t want that.”

The lycan looks between us. “So he listens to you now?” he asks me, getting off Memnon.

The sorcerer sits up and wipes away what blood my magic hasn’t already cleaned from his face, then rests his arm on a bended knee.

Memnon leans back a little, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Are you going to tell him or should I?” he asks me, oddly gleeful for a man who just took several hits to the face.

“Memnon,” I caution. Why must this entire conversation happen while I am blazingly drunk and in desperate need of an orgasm?

“What is he talking about, Selene?” Kane asks. I can see his wolf staring at me from the backs of his eyes.

Hell’s spells.

My stomach churns as I admit, “Memnon is bound to me.”

Uncertainty flickers in his eyes. “You mean through your…bond?”

“The soul mate bond doesn’t compel me to do anything,” Memnon says. “The one we made a few nights ago, however…”

It finally registers. “You bound him?” Kane says to me, horrified.

My stomach twists. I became a friend of the pack in the first place because I stopped a binding spell from happening. To suddenly now have one myself doesn’t look good.

Kane stares at me like he’s never seen me before. Like maybe I am the bad guy.

Memnon stands up, stepping in front of me. “Don’t look at her like that,” he says, menace back in his voice.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Kane says, ignoring Memnon entirely.

Memnon answers anyway. “I asked it of her. I am earning back the trust I broke.”

Kane looks from Memnon to me, aghast. I cannot tell what is running through the lycan’s mind, but Goddess, I am too drunk to adequately address it anyway.

Another wave of desire washes though me, and a soft moan slips out.

Ugh. And horny. Crone’s cane, but I’m far, far too horny to be having this conversation.

Kane’s nostril’s flare, and his eyes fully shift, and Memnon glances back at me with an arched eyebrow, and fuck, everybody is very aware that I’m one throbbing erogenous zone.

“Well,” I say, inclining my head a little. “It has been lovely, Kane. We will chat again soon. Memnon and I are leaving right now,” I say, directing this last bit to the sorcerer.

Memnon immediately moves toward me with a possessive glint in his eye.

Kane’s gaze searches mine. “Selene…”

I hear the hurt in his voice, and it guts me.

I didn’t intend for any of this. Not the confrontation, not the meeting with Kane, not even the arousal. It’s still my fault, but I hadn’t wanted it all to play out so messily.

The shifter’s attention moves to my soul mate, and his pain transforms into anger. “How does it feel to be forced to do another’s bidding?” Kane calls out.

Memnon gets to my side and turns around to face the lycanthrope. Though the shifter is deliberately baiting him, there’s no longer any rage in Memnon’s eyes. Instead, he flashes the shifter an amused look.

“Like foreplay, pup.”

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CHAPTER 18

We walk for several minutes in silence, the only noises the crunch of our feet over leaves and the harsh sound of my breath.

Behind us, a howl goes up, the sound mournful. I rub my eyes, a sob stuck in my throat.

Never meant to hurt him. Love sucks. Witch’s brew sucks. This situation sucks.

I’m still drunk and so, so aroused, and it makes everything that much worse.

“How much of that with me and Kane did you see?” I ask.

I feel Memnon glance over at me, his bourbon eyes flicking to my mouth. “Enough.”

I run my hand over my face. Goddess, but this evening has gone tits up.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Memnon admits.

“Do what?” I say, my fingers finding their way to the low neckline of my dress. I’m absently starting to tug on it.

“Fight for the right to be yours.”

I glance over at him just as he looks up toward the shrouded sky, and my eyes trace the line of his jaw.

“Before, when you were Roxi, you were mine and mine alone. I never needed to prove my worth to you.” He stops and faces me. “And now that I must, I feel my own inadequacies rising to the surface. I can fight and kill for you, but I cannot be whatever that man is.” He gestures in the direction we last saw Kane.

Even in the darkness, I can see there’s still a bit of swelling on Memnon’s face. Neither of our powers fully healed him.

I step up to my mate and place a hand against his cheek, letting my magic sink into his skin. I don’t utter a spell, but my power understands my intention, and it goes about healing his remaining wounds.

“I’m still so angry at you,” I admit. “So angry it’s hard to breathe through it.” If I had spoken these words days ago, they would’ve rang true. Right now, however, the heat of my hate has banked. “But tonight, I called out for you. I wanted you.”

I still want you.

Another wave of desire punctuates my confession, and under the force of it, I close the last of the space between us. For once this evening, my desire doesn’t feel like the enemy, like something working against me. It feels…if not natural then at least magical. Wondrous. Something to be celebrated.

My hand slips from Memnon’s cheek and moves to his chest, my fingers digging in at the solid feel of him beneath my palm. I want more. Need more.

“I am yours to command, my queen,” he says in Sarmatian. “So if you want me to please you, command it.”

The two of us stare at each other, the moment taut with tension.

I drop my gaze to his chest and deliberately place both my hands on his pecs. My pulse is pounding between my ears, my blood is roaring in my veins, and an evening’s worth of want is gathered up in me.

I push him gently. Memnon is as immovable as a mountain, but he lets me force him back, back, back until he bumps against a tree trunk.

My eyes rise to his throat, where I can just make out the panther tattoo that peeks out from the collar of his shirt.

Rising onto tiptoes, I wrap a hand around his neck and pull him to me. Gently, I graze my lips over the inked animal. Long ago, he got the tattoo in honor of Ferox, my familiar. My heart squeezes at the memory.

Memnon’s hand comes up, holding my face to his skin, like he wants to keep me there forever.

“Est amage,” he says softly, reverently, his free hand lightly stroking up and down my bare arm.

“I don’t want to command you,” I whisper into his ear. That’s what he wants. I want him to be at my mercy in an entirely different way.

So when I pull away, my hands slip to his pants, and I undo the button at the top.

“Selene,” he says, his voice roughened with surprise. He captures my wrists, trying to stop me. He can have my wrists. I don’t need them for what I’m about to do.

My magic rolls out of me, unzipping his pants and tugging them and what he wears beneath down his legs.

“When was the last time someone bowed to you, est xsaya?” My king.

Memnon goes preternaturally still, and when I meet his eyes, his expression is feral.

“Selene,” he says again, and his voice holds a dangerous edge.

He wants control? He wants strategy? He won’t get any of it right now.

I drop to my knees, my wrists still caught in his grip. The throb in my core has reached a fever pitch. I don’t know if it’s possible to come from arousal alone, but apparently I want to find out.

The sorcerer’s erection juts out proudly, a bead of precum glistening in the darkness. I have countless memories of taking him in my mouth, yet I’ve technically never experienced it in this life. That strange contrast only sharpens my desire.

I lean forward, wrapping my lips around the head of his cock. Memnon hisses in a breath. I draw my tongue up his slit, the taste of him nearly sending me. Shit, I might actually come this way.

“Selene,” he groans, his hips jerking forward of their own accord.

I take him deeper into my mouth.

Better than memory. So much better.

He still holds my arms captive, and honestly, it’s doing nothing but heightening my own arousal.

I pull away from his cock long enough to say, “If you don’t want this, release me.”

I stare up at him, waiting. His hands flex on my wrists but don’t let go. “Selene, you are the one who needs⁠—”

“I need this,” I interrupt. “I need you.”

With that, I lean in, taking Memnon’s cock as deep in my mouth as I can.

“Gods, Empress,” he curses as his hips begin to move in tandem with my mouth, “Feels like heaven. I’d almost forgotten.”

I smile around him, pleased by his reaction—pleased by him.

Slowly, I retreat from his cock until only the head of him remains in my mouth. Then I move back up his shaft, enjoying the feel of him against my tongue. I fall into a rhythm, one that has my own core throbbing harder and harder. The longer I work him, the more my jaw burns with the effort. Even that ache is familiar. And somehow, the memory of it is breaking my heart and filling it up all at once.

Through our bond, I sense his knees growing weak. My desire roars in my veins, but through our connection, I also catch wisps of the pleasure I’m giving him. My breasts feel too heavy, and the ache between my thighs pounds harder than ever.

Memnon finally releases my wrists so he can dig his fingers into my hair. “My queen, my mate, this is rapture…cannot last much longer.”

I can sense it too. Goddess, I can. It’s stoking the heat inside me, ratcheting it up and up.

I should leave you unfinished like this, I tell him, running my hands up his thick thighs. Feels so damn good. Just as you left me so many nights.

He’d sent me so many sex dreams, edging me without release night after night.

You’d be justified doing so. Memnon groans, thrusting a bit deeper into my mouth. I enjoyed cruelly teasing you.

I’m tempted, I say, my own core still throbbing as I release him from my mouth. But what I really want, est xsaya, is to see you lose control inside me.

Memnon is breathing heavily, staring down at me from where he leans. In the moonlight, his eyes glint like coins, his scar a darker shadow than the rest. He looks as though he were born from the darkness, the angles of his features sharp and wicked.

“I wanted to wait until you didn’t hate me so much,” he says softly.

Is that why he’s always stopped short of sex with me? If so, that’s…annoyingly noble.

I shake my head. “I called you here tonight for some quick, meaningless sex,” I say. “If you’re not up for that, you can leave.” It hurts to say this last part, but my arousal will pass. I’m not going to use our bond to force him to stay if he doesn’t want to.

Memnon crouches in front of me, not bothering to pull up his pants and tuck himself away.

“Est amage, you and I both know I don’t do fast fucks, and I definitely don’t do meaningless ones.” He regards me for a long moment. “I can eat you out until sunrise and beyond, but if you want me inside you, those are my terms.”

I narrow my gaze at him, my breath ragged. “You do know I can command you.” I think he’s forgotten who has the upper hand here.

He tilts my chin. “Then command me,” he challenges. “I willingly gave you that power over me.” Memnon stares at me a little longer. “Otherwise, those are my terms.” When I don’t say anything, he leans in. “I think, even caught up in whatever potion you’ve taken, you do still want deep connection, and you want to feel safe when everything else is out of control.” He pauses for a moment. “That’s all I ask for, Empress.”

There is a lot of nuance to his demands; it would probably be simpler if I sent Memnon away or stuck to oral. I don’t want that.

My eyes drop to his lips. “Kiss me,” I breathe.

In an instant, his mouth is on mine. His lips are a memory, and with every stroke of them, I awaken. I’m Roxilana, and I am Selene.

“Do you still want me?” he whispers against my lips.

I nod against him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He grins against me, pleased, so pleased. Like he’s gotten everything he wants. His hands hook beneath my arms, and he lifts me up, twisting us so that it’s my back that hits the tree. The sorcerer lifts me high, high up over him, his magic twisting around my waist and beneath my thighs to keep me pinned there. I stare down at his face, confused at why I’m so much higher than even he is.

Until, of course, I realize my pussy is eyelevel for him.

“Nice panties,” he says a moment before he snaps them off. “Now, legs over my shoulders,” he commands.

“Wait, what?” I say dazedly. “I want you to fuck me.”

He leans forward and nips my dress and what he can of my pussy, and I yelp, bucking against him.

“We’ll get to that eventually.” He gives my ass a squeeze. “Over my shoulders, feisty witch,” he says again.

I do as he says before I can think better of it, only slightly miffed that he’s the one bossing me around.

He steps in close, forcing my legs farther apart. While his magic holds me in place, his hands caress the outsides of my thighs, pushing my dress up to my waist.

Cold air hits my pussy.

“Memnon,” I gasp, staring down at him.

“Hold on to my hair, est amage. I want to feel your pussy grinding against my face.”

Goddess, but he’s such a dirty talker. My chest is heaving faster and faster with my arousal. The anticipation has taken me right to the edge. He could barely touch me, and it would set me off.

My hands thread through his hair. Flashing me a hungry look, he leans forward.

Mere inches from my core, I tug on that hair of his, pulling him away.

“Mercy, little witch, do you want to feel good or not?”

I glance down at the sorcerer and take in his ferocious, violent beauty. My heart is beating fast, so fast, and I feel vulnerable.

“This is just for tonight,” I say, watching him carefully. “It won’t be a regular thing.”

“Of course,” Memnon says smoothly, his gaze unfaltering. I should be skeptical of his easy agreement after all his earlier demands, but honestly, I want this too bad to peer closely at his reasons.

Just for tonight, I repeat to myself silently. Just because of the brew.

“Now,” Memnon says, running a hand up and down my outer thigh, “will you let me taste you?”

“Yes.”

I’ve barely gotten the word out when Memnon’s mouth is on me.

I gasp as his lips move against me, my hold tightening on him, and I’m rising, rising, rising⁠—

“Memnon!” I cry out as I come.

He continues eating me out as I come, and holy fucking Goddess, it’s too much. I make tormented, helpless noises.

“If you think I’m stopping just because you came quick,” he says against me, “here’s your notice—I’m not.”

I don’t know whether to curse him or thank him, because no sooner has my orgasm begun to ebb than my arousal comes roaring back.

Memnon teases all my sensitive spots before slipping a tongue in me. I moan, pressing my core closer to his mouth. My world has come down to the point of contact where Memnon’s mouth meets my pussy.

“Tastes like fucking ambrosia, mate,” he says as he works me with his mouth. The man eats me out with a hunger reserved for starving men, his hands kneading my thighs.

His mouth moves to my clit, and he is merciless. I move against his face, grinding against him like he wanted me to, my body desperate for more. I pinch my eyes shut, leaning my head back against the rough tree bark, writhing against him as sensation rapidly builds in me all over again.

Before it can pitch me over the edge, Memnon moves away from my pussy, lowering me.

I cry out at the loss of his touch, my eyes opening.

The sorcerer’s own eyes are taking in every inch of my face like he’s committing it to memory. “Do you still want me, est amage?” he asks when we’re at eye level.

I nod, my core feeling painfully empty.

“Then command me,” he says.

“I want you inside me.”

He gives his head a shake. “Command me.”

I hesitate, searching his gaze. I don’t want to take the sorcerer’s agency from him, and my orders do just that. Yet he wants my commands pressed onto him, I think. I think his demand for them is his consent.

My hand drifts to his neck, where my snarling familiar is inked on his skin. I trace the lines of it. “If you don’t like anything I order you to do, say ‘Ferox,’” I whisper.

Cannot believe we’re about to have the sort of sex that requires safe words.

Memnon’s eyes shine. “All right, Empress, I can do that. Now, command me.”

I wet my lips, then lift my chin. “Fuck me, Memnon.”

“That’s my queen.”

He spreads my thighs, lining us up. I can feel his heavy, throbbing cock at my entrance.

Memnon pauses. “This changes things.”

I open my mouth to argue, because it doesn’t change anything—it’s just sex, a simple, physical act. But before I get a word out, Memnon drives into me.

I gasp, my grip tightening around my soul mate’s neck as his massive cock fully seats itself inside me. I’m speared on the thing, and despite my dripping pussy and all the foreplay, I am stretched nearly beyond my limits.

Memnon exhales sharply, a shiver running through him.

“Are you good?” he asks softly, sensing my tension.

I nod, swallowing a little. “Just give me a moment.” I had forgotten how big he was.

For several seconds, all I can hear are our ragged breaths and the distant, pleasured cries of other witches. The sorcerer leans forward, pressing a kiss to the underside of my jaw, then my cheeks, then my nose, then my eyelids. With each gentle brush of his lips, my body relaxes, and my core stretches, accommodating him.

“Gods,” he murmurs in Sarmatian. “Two thousand years and I’m finally home.”

I don’t want to admit it, but I feel it too. Those gentle, reverent kisses, the fullness in my core—this feels right, so right. This is more intimate than I planned, but a deviant part of me enjoys this anyway.

“Don’t move,” I whisper. “Not yet.”

His lips brush against my mouth. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

My body has already stretched for him, but I stay there a few extra moments, just to relish it a little longer. Eventually, my arousal takes over, and I shift against him, now needing the friction of his thrusts. Only…they don’t come.

Memnon presses his forehead to mine, letting out a husky laugh. “Amazing as this feels, est amage, you’re going to have to release me from your last command if you want me to continue.”

Oh, right.

“You can move,” I whisper, too overcome by the feel of him to be embarrassed.

He pulls away to kiss me under my jaw. Memnon drags his cock almost all the way out of me before thrusting back in.

I gasp.

“You feel so godsdamned good,” he murmurs, grabbing my hands from behind his neck and threading his fingers between mine as his hips continue to rock against me. “My fierce little fiancée.”

The reminder drags away some of the lust-driven haze that I’m under.

“This means nothing,” I insist.

“This means everything,” Memnon says, squeezing my hands. His next thrust is punishingly deep, and I moan as it hits every nerve ending inside me.

The sorcerer still wants something soft here; he’s tried to angle this to his advantage.

But he isn’t the one in control.

I meet his eyes. “Harder,” I demand, lifting my chin. I don’t want to be reminded that we were married once or that we might be again someday. Terms be damned, right now, all I want from him is sensation alone. “Fuck me like you’re determined to get me to come as fast as possible.”

Memnon groans as his own pace picks up. He bites his bottom lip as he looks at me. I don’t think he’s aware of the action, but it has me mesmerized. I moan at the sensation, tilting my head back as I begin to climb once more.

The sorcerer leans in. “Just so we’re clear, Selene, I want to give you soul-devouring sex,” he says as he slams into me, his hips pumping faster and faster. He fucks me like it’s the one thing he’s been made for. “Not this hasty shit.” Each punishing stroke of his cock sends me closer and closer to the edge. “I want you to see the life we once shared—the one I still want to give you,” he says, squeezing my hands.

“You’ll give me what I ask for,” I tell him. “Isn’t that what you want from your queen?”

Memnon holds my gaze, his thrusts relentless. “I live to serve you, Empress.”

I can’t read his expression, not in the darkness here, but there’s no trace of mockery or disappointment in his voice. I think he’s being wholly sincere. But it is a reminder: I will only get my way like this so long as the bond remains and I don’t fall in love with him.

The sorcerer pulls down one of the straps of my dress, exposing the breast beneath. Bending down, he sucks on my nipple and teases it between his teeth.

That’s all it takes.

I cry out as my climax explodes through me, clouding my vision. I squeeze his hands as wave after wave of it crests.

Memnon groans against my skin. “Missed the feel of you coming around me.” He hisses in a breath. “Squeezing my cock too good,” he says as he continues to mercilessly drive into me.

Memnon has barely uttered the words when I feel him thicken. I cry out again as the extra pressure extends my climax.

“Gods, Selene.” He pistons hard into me, abandoning my breast in favor of my lips.

And then he’s coming.

He kisses me through wave after wave of his own orgasm. I can feel an echo of it across our bond, amplifying the receding edge of my own. He’s in my mouth, in my pussy, and wrapped around me, pressed against me as closely as he can get. I sense if he could, he would simply melt into me.

I like the thought. Right now, with the brew still burning like fire in my veins, I wouldn’t mind Memnon sinking into me and never leaving.

Eventually, his thrusts gentle, and he gives my mouth one last kiss as he pulls out of me. He clutches my body to his as he lowers me to the ground.

“Can you stand?” he asks as he sets me on my feet.

My unsteady legs immediately fold.

He catches me. “All right, that’s a no,” he says, lifting me back into his arms.

“I’m fine,” I insist, but Memnon is already wrapping my legs around his waist and holding me so that we’re chest to chest.

The two of us gaze at each other. I lock my ankles together and twine my arms around his neck.

“This is nice too,” I admit.

Memnon’s eyes twinkle. “Good, est amage, because I have no intention of putting you back down.”

I hear the rustle of his jeans and the sound of his zipper being done up as his magic redresses him. And then he begins to walk.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“Back to your room. Unless you’d rather stay out here?”

I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or if it’s a legitimate question, but I shake my head. “My place is good.”

His gaze drops to my lips, and he nods. “Good.”

Memnon hasn’t taken twenty steps when he makes a tortured noise and glances down between us.

Heat rises to my cheeks when I realize what he’s noticing. Memnon’s come is leaking out of me and getting all over his shirt.

“I’m going to make a mess of your clothes,” I say softly.

“If you think I’m anything but pleased,” he says, “you’re mistaken.”

My cheeks burn hotter, even as I tighten my grip. Given this position, the two of us are painfully close. As close as we used to be when we’d ride together—closer, technically, since then I always faced away from him.

On a whim, I press my face into his neck and breathe in. The action causes his hold on me to tighten.

“You don’t smell like grass or horse anymore,” I say, surprised and maybe a little dismayed. He doesn’t even smell like sweat. He used to. I close my eyes, and I can remember with striking clarity that other version of him. His low-slung pants and kurta, which he’d peel off the moment his torso got too sweaty from training. The bow and gorytos he wore in addition to his blades. The warm, sunbaked feel of his skin after a long day out on the steppe.

“That must be a welcome relief.” Memnon’s voice has that husky, intimate quality to it.

I shake my head against him, playing with a few locks of his hair at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s not.” I frown to myself, then breathe him in again.

Memnon does still smell like himself in the most innate way. And it’s that smell that makes me lean my head against him.

My old friend. My fiercest enemy. My newest lover.

After a moment, he says, “I’m unused to hearing you speak of our past as…ours.” He pulls me away from his neck to gaze at me. “It fills me with no small amount of joy.”

I stare back at him uncertainly, my emotions tangled up, when that goddess-damned witch’s brew stirs in my veins, and my core begins to ache all over again.

No, no, no. Please, not again.

I press my lips together to stifle a moan, but I don’t manage to stop my hips from grinding against him.

“Again?” Memnon says, surprised.

I duck my head, a little embarrassed. Instead of responding, I lean in and press a kiss to his neck, then another and another. Memnon draws in a sharp breath, his hands gripping me tighter.

Despite my own misgivings about my soul mate, I’m absurdly relieved that it’s him who’s with me tonight. The sorcerer is as natural and familiar to me as my own skin. Perhaps it is like this with all soul mates, but I suspect so much of it has to do with the life we lived together long ago. That one was built first out of friendship.

He makes a sound deep in his chest. “What did you take?”

“What do you mean?” I ask him, even as I continue to trail kisses along his skin.

“You have a healthy appetite for sex, little witch, but this is something else,” he says as I continue to rub myself against him. “I can feel your need clawing at me through our bond.”

“Witch’s brew,” I say. There was no such equivalent in the ancient world. “It draws out our magic, but it has some side effects.” Though those side effects are not usually this potent.