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.”
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.