Bewitched

CHAPTER 29

I am cloaked in darkness, my mind wrapped in it like a blanket. It only pulls back slightly when I hear a low warning growl from Nero, who’s curled against my side.

I fight my way back to consciousness, rousing only enough to lift my hand in additional warning to whoever is approaching.

My eyes meet the brown eyes of a wolf. As soon as I see it, I drop my hand.

Not a witch.

In the back of my mind, I note the irony that even bloody and weak, I feel safer right now in the presence of a predator than I do a witch.

“It’s okay, Nero,” I whisper.

My familiar quiets, though he’s tense behind me.

The wolf paces forward, and if it’s interested in eating me, I’m F-U-C-K-E-D because I’m not moving. I don’t think I could even if I tried.

The wolf takes a few steps forward, then soundlessly shifts. In its place stands a naked older man.

He rushes over the last of the distance before kneeling at our side, uncaring that a panther is mere feet from him. I can’t see the man’s expression, but he must smell the blood on me. I’ve lost a lot, I think…

I don’t know what we must look like.

The man leans into the girl’s neck and breathes in her scent. Whatever he smells causes him to whine. Then he leans over and scents me as well, his nose tickling my skin. Nero growls again but doesn’t do anything else. I hear another whine come from the man, this one slightly different.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

I don’t think so, but I don’t bother admitting that.

Instead, I reach out and grope in the darkness for his hand. When I find it, I give it a squeeze.

I swallow, beating back the darkness that keeps clouding my vision.

“They tried…to…bind her,” I whisper. I feel a pressing need to get this story out now, in case more people come for me and the girl. “She was…drugged… Did…my best…to…get her…here.” I keep having to pause to catch my breath. Everything hurts so damn bad. Even pushing out words. And my vision keeps clouding. I think. It’s so dark. I don’t know. Confused.

The girl, I remind myself.

“Please…” I say, squeezing the shifter’s hand, “get her…to safety…before they…come back.”

“Who? Who’s coming back?”

I try to speak again, but I’m so tired. So, so tired.

I think I drift a little, but I rouse again when I hear the shifter howl, the sound of it raising my gooseflesh. I crack my eyes open—when did they close?—and see the girl is in his arms.

“Thank you for protecting Cara,” he says, and oh, he’s talking to me.

I try to sharpen my focus.

“I’m going to send some pack mates over here,” he continues. “We’ll get you healed and taken care of. Just hold tight.” That last part sounds a bit like a plea, and I understand why a second later.

The shifter retreats into the darkness, carrying the girl.

I should feel terrified of being left alone, weak as I am. But Nero is beside me, and I know he’s keeping watch. Between that and my relief that the girl is now back with her pack, I let the darkness take me once more.

It seems like only minutes later when my sleep is interrupted again. I hear the heavy crunch of pine needles as someone approaches.

One of the shifters, I remind myself.

The footsteps halt when they get to me.

“Only fools and warriors pass out under an open sky. Reckless woman, you are a bit of both.”

I jolt when I hear the voice, forcing my eyes open. In the darkness, I can barely make out Memnon’s features, but it’s him.

How did you find me? I want to ask him, but I’m so tired, and I know if I try to speak—if I dare move at all—then my various wounds will start waking up with me.

We are soul mates. I can always find you.

He reaches out and brushes the hair from my face. It’s…nice. I let my eyes drift closed and enjoy the sensation of his fingers on me. Now that I’m vulnerable, I can admit to myself that Memnon’s very presence makes me feel safe.

His hand retreats from my hair, and I hate that his touch is gone. And then I think I’m supposed to hate that I hate that, but fuck, I’m too tired to bother caring at this point.

Hands slide under my body. Even that slight jostling has me moaning as my injuries flare to life.

“It’s all right, little witch. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The moment he lifts me fully into his arms, it feels like I’m being attacked all over again. I cry out as pain lacerates across my body.

Memnon curses under his breath. “Ease the pain from within,” he utters.

His magic seeps into me from that point over my heart. Almost immediately, the pain dissolves. I want to laugh; it feels so good not to hurt. But I’m so tired. Even more so now that I have a true break from the pain.

Memnon begins to walk, and I lean my head into the crook of his arm, nestling into his chest.

“My flawless queen, my exquisite mate,” he murmurs, and for once I really don’t take issue with the terms he’s calling me. “What heart you have.”

I don’t think we’ve traveled very far when Memnon pauses, adjusting his grip so he can use one of his hands to feel where my clothes touch his. I don’t really know what he’s doing, not until he holds his fingers up, rubs them together, then touches them to his tongue.

“Fuck.” He starts moving again, only now he’s charging through the woods. “How badly are you injured?”

I don’t know. I push the answer through our bond because I’m too tired to speak.

He curses again. “I’m going to get you to your room before I heal you, est amage. If we linger out here while I mend your wounds, we will draw too much attention, and I do not trust my rage right now. I will kill anyone who crosses me—friend or foe.”

“You…have…anger problems.”

Memnon’s hold tightens on me. “You are my weakness, Empress,” he confesses, his voice gentling. “You always have been.”

As he carries me back through the Everwoods, his lips skim my forehead, and for some inconceivable reason, I lean into the action, nuzzling closer to him.

He makes a satisfied sound, and I swear I sense some emotion coming from Memnon—an ache that is so sharp, it hurts.

“You are safe,” he murmurs. “Nothing—nothing—will ever get you while you are with me. I swear my life on it, mate.”

I feel the truth in those words, though I don’t understand why he’s being this way when he’s been so clear that we are enemies.

It’s only quiet for a minute before he speaks again.

“How fierce my mate is,” he says. “I saw how you laid waste to your foes.”

Bile rises in my throat at the memory of all the sliced-up witches scattered across the forest. How did the night turn into this?

“Fear not, my queen,” he continues. “Those who survived your wrath will not live long. I will hunt them down myself and make them pay.”

Oh Goddess.

“No,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says. “They marked themselves the moment they attacked you. No one attacks what’s mine and lives.”

I don’t remember passing out, but I wake to the sound of Memnon’s boots striding across the creaking wood floors of my house. I’m still in his arms, still cradled like a baby. And man, after the night I had, I can say with certainty that I much prefer being the one carried than doing the carrying. Even thinking about that memory makes my arms throb.

I snuggle deeper into Memnon’s chest, and uncaring that he’ll likely notice, I breathe in the smell of leather and man. It makes my gut clench in the strangest way.

His arms tighten around me again, and I feel another brush of his lips against my forehead.

The house is dark and quiet as Memnon heads up the stairs and down the hall, the only sound the creaking floorboards. When he gets to my room, he opens the door, flicks on the light, and carries me in, heading over to my bed. Gently, the sorcerer lays me out. Nero follows me onto the mattress before stretching out along my side.

I stare up at Memnon, feeling vulnerable like this. I get a thrill at the position because for all Memnon’s ferocity, I do feel safe in his presence.

The thrill lasts for only a moment. Memnon’s eyes widen as he gets a good look at me for the first time since he found me. Then his expression darkens…darkens until he looks murderous.

“Who did this to you?” His eyes have a feral look to them, and his earlier words really register then—about his rage making him kill indiscriminately. He looks like he wants to end lives.

Reaching down, he rips away the tattered remains of my black robe. I hear his sharp intake of breath at what he sees beneath.

“Selene.” There it is again. Panic. It laces Memnon’s voice.

Then he’s reaching for my shirt, grabbing the hem and—

Riiiip.

I gasp as the material splits down the middle, revealing my stomach and bra.

“What are you doing?” I demand. I shiver as the cool air hits my skin.

“Assessing your injuries,” he growls, flicking his gaze to my pants.

He pulls out a wicked-looking blade that was strapped to his side.

At the sight of it, I go still.

His eyes move back to mine, and his expression softens. He takes my hand and clasps it tightly, the hilt of his dagger brushing against my palm.

“Don’t be frightened, little witch,” he says. “This is so I can remove your pants and assess your injuries. Your clothes are”—he takes a bracing breath—“too blood soaked to pull off without jostling you.”

Blood soaked?

I don’t believe him, not until I glance down my torso and see the massive red stains myself. I didn’t realize my wounds were that bad—the robe obscured them from view.

I drag my attention back to him. A muscle jumps in his cheek, like he’s only barely holding in some emotion. His eyes run over my face as though he can’t help but take me in.

“Can I continue?” Memnon asks.

Swallowing, I nod.

He gives my hand a squeeze, then lays it down with the sort of care that makes me feel breakable. With his knife, he carefully cuts my jeans away, slicing open one pant leg, then the other.

I’m left in nothing but my bra and underwear, but Memnon only has eyes for my wounds. His indigo magic thickens and coils around him.

“Your enemies’ deaths will be slow,” he vows, and there is far too much conviction in his eyes.

I’m too weary to argue with him about this when my limbs are trembling, either from shock or exertion.

Gingerly, he lifts one of my feet, inspecting the pad of it. I already know the flesh down there is torn up. I felt the cuts I collected as I ran barefoot. By that point, I was too determined to care.