Bewitched

I move back from his mind to my own. I’ve regained enough control of my body to turn on my side and retch, my body wanting to purge the pain and the spells and all the gruesome sights of the evening.

Nero prowls over to me and nudges me onto my back again. I groan as I flop onto my injured shoulder.

My familiar puts a paw on my chest, and he gives me an intense and—I swear to the goddess—irritated look. Normally, I have to guess at Nero’s more complex thoughts, but for some reason, this one is clear: Call on me for help.

I swallow and nod. “Thank you,” I murmur.

It takes another full minute for the immobilizing spell to completely wear off, even with the help of Memnon’s borrowed magic.

Once it does, I hobble over to the shifter girl. She’s no longer screaming, which is good, but she’s not awake, and she’s far too still for my liking. Kneeling at her side, I check her pulse.

It’s there—and it sounds strong and steady.

I think she’s going to be okay.

“Give me strength,” I murmur in Sarmatian, the words forming as I draw on more of Memnon’s power.

His magic flares through my body, lending me his might.

I lug the girl into my arms once more, trying not to think about just how much I’m in Memnon’s debt. I’ve used a lot of his power tonight.

Got to get to shifter territory. I can worry about the sorcerer later. The most important thing is making sure this girl is safe.

I’ve taken maybe five steps when a monstrous roar fills the night air.

Well, fuck. There’s the monster. Now he’s accounted for.

And I think he’s after my ass.

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