I’m aware of a distant niggle, and I know something isn’t quite right. But I cannot place just what that something—
I’m ripped from my thoughts when Memnon tongues my clit, and he moves his fingers to my core, slipping one of them in.
“Goddess!” I’m overwhelmed by sensation. I try to move away, just to get some relief from all those intimate touches.
With his free hand, Memnon holds me fast.
“Memnon—too much,” I gasp out.
He laughs against my clit. “And yet you’ll endure it all.”
I’m forced to feel the persistent stroke of his tongue and the glide of his lips, all while his fingers slip in and out, in and out.
The moment I give in to the sensation is the moment my climax builds. I’m beginning to make helpless, embarrassing noises because, ugh, it feels so damn good. Too good.
Memnon moves his mouth away from my clit, but it’s almost immediately replaced by the brush of his magic. He uses his power like another set of lips against my clit, continuing where he left off.
While his magic works me, Memnon gazes up the span of my body. When our eyes meet, the world tilts.
“All the lands and all the kingdoms shall be mine once more,” Memnon says softly, still moving his fingers in and out of me, “and all shall know my name as they once did. Memnon the Indomitable.” His eyes glitter with intensity. “Most of all, you will be mine again.”
My orgasm is so close, so, so—
Memnon settles back down between my legs, and he brushes a kiss against my inner thigh. “But first, my queen, you—will—pay.”
The alarm on my phone goes off, jolting me awake. I’m awash in sweat, and my core is throbbing with unfulfilled need.
Blowing out a breath, I grab my phone. I’m not entirely sure whether I’m going to take care of my missed orgasm and get up or simply snooze the alarm and go back to sleep. Before I decide, I catch sight of the message on my phone.
Alarm for morning run with Sybil @ 6:30 a.m.
Ugh, that’s right.
It’s 6:15 a.m. right now, which means I barely have time to change and meet her as it is. So no orgasm and no sleep.
Feeling flustered and grumpy, I grab my clothes and shove myself into them, then tie my hair back and lace up my running shoes.
By the time I knock on Sybil’s door, I have two minutes to spare. And I’m still in a foul mood.
When she opens her door, she takes me in. “You look how I feel,” she says, slipping out of the room. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”
I rub my eyes and shake my head. “Because we’re the queens of bad ideas.”
“C’mon then, my fellow queen,” she says. “Let’s see this bad idea through.”
Okay, the run is not half bad.
I mean, it is because it’s running, and everything jiggles, and I’m somehow sweating in unmentionable places and chilly in others. But the air carries the scent of pine trees and wet soil, and the birds are chirping—and that’s to say nothing of the view.
Sybil takes us on a path that winds behind the campus, then continues to the north of it, the dirt path snaking through the coastal hills.
“How much of this does the coven own?” I ask her. It feels like we’ve been running forever, and we haven’t turned back yet.
“Miles and miles—farther up this way are the residences for graduated coven members.” Sybil huffs, pointing ahead of us.
I can’t see the houses she’s talking about, but I know of them. Coven members who prefer living near other witches and away from the hustle and bustle of normal society can choose to live on coven property. The thought of growing old alongside other witches sounds pretty idyllic, but who knows? Perhaps by the time I graduate Henbane, I’ll be over it.
The forest around us opens, giving way to a field. Off to my left, I catch a glimpse of the distant coastline and the ocean beyond.
The word idyllic was created for days like this.
It’s almost enough for me to forget my encounter with Memnon.
He’s going to be a problem—a big one too. He’s now visited me twice in the past week—to say nothing of my, um, vivid dreams. And if Memnon’s parting words last night were anything to go by, I’ll be seeing him again, and soon.
Only now do I remember one overlooked detail from our encounter.
And have you been enjoying our time apart? he said. All twenty centuries of it?
A chill runs down my back as I do the math.
He’s two thousand years old?
I cannot wrap my head around that amount of time. And speaking of time, if Memnon knows how many years he slept, then he knows the year it currently is.
What else must he know?
For the first time since he confronted me behind Lunar Observatory, I wonder about his life. How exactly did he get from South America to Northern California? Where did he get his clothes? From whom did he acquire information about the modern world? And where in the goddess’s name is he staying?
These questions fill me with a combination of dread and guilt. I don’t really want to know the answers to any of them, but I also feel like I released this man, then abandoned him to the world.
Not that I was in any place to help him. Not after how he treated me.
Speaking of how he treated me…
My thoughts turn to my latest dream. I want to wither away at the fact that I’ve now twice had sex dreams about motherfucking Memnon. I mean, he is wickedly beautiful, so I guess my eyes have good taste, but come on, mind, we do not spread our legs for evil dream men. Even ones who know their way around a pussy.
I draw in a ragged breath.
“Hey, you okay?” Sybil says next to me.
“What? Yeah, I’m good.” I rush the words out.
She stares at me for a second. “I’m sorry about the amulet,” she finally says.
She thinks my mood is about that mess of an amulet?
If only.
I wave her words away. “It’s fine. It really is. I’ll just try again.”
I can feel Sybil’s eyes on me a second longer, but given how uneven the ground is, she eventually has to look away.
We run for a little longer when the dirt path forks, one branch continuing onward and the other curving back the way we came.
“Unless you want to keep going,” Sybil says, “we’ll want to take this one back to the house.” She points to the branch that twists toward home.
“Don’t want to keep going,” I say. My energy is already starting to flag, and there are still miles between me and my bedroom.
We take the path that curves back the way we came, birdsong and dappled light following us through the Everwoods.
We’ve got to be less than a mile from campus when up ahead of us, the pathway is roped off by crime scene tape.
Sybil and I slow. There are people in Politia uniforms milling about, their magic filling the air. There’s something else lingering in the breeze, something grim and oily and malevolent. Beneath even that, I sense…
Death.
Ruthless, agonizing death. It’s just a momentary impression; then it’s gone.
“Selene…” Sybil says, a thread of fear in her voice.
Before I can respond, one of the uniformed officers notices us.