Bewitched

CHAPTER 30

I blink my eyes open as late-morning sunlight streams into my room. I hear the distant sound of my coven sisters chatting down the hall and in the communal bathroom as they get ready for class.

I stretch, feeling Nero at my back. That’s when the pain awakens.

I groan.

Everything hurts. My arms and back and legs ache from the strain of carrying the shifter girl so far. My muscles are overtaxed, but that is nothing compared to the stabbing pain in my head and the nausea rolling through my stomach.

I overused my magic. And then I overused Memnon’s magic.

I let out another pained sound. At my back, Nero moves, and the arm that’s draped over my waist migrates to my forehead.

Wait. Arm?

I’m drawn back against a broad hard chest, and that hand turns my head so a set of lips can brush a kiss against my temple.

“Ease the pain. Remove the ache,” Memnon murmurs against my skin.

I suck in a breath at his voice. He stayed with me—I asked him to…

Last night comes back to me, even as my migraine and the rest of my bodily pains disappear.

Goddess, last night. Despite the massive amounts of memory I must’ve burned through, last night comes back to me in full detail—the spell circle, the chase, the witches I fought and the monster I shattered, the brief interaction with a man from the Marin Pack, and then Memnon.

Memnon.

Memnon carrying me. Memnon caring for me.

The whole night takes my breath away, but this last part most of all. He’s supposed to be my enemy, but nothing about last night fit that narrative. He gave me his magic, then came for me and healed me. And I kissed him. And now he’s in my bed.

Just as I think it, his fingers run through my hair. There’s something so intimate about the gesture. The fact there’s no sexual angle to it confuses me more. I’ve dabbled in physical intimacy with men, but I’m not used to…this. Intimacy without some sexual motivation.

Maybe that’s why I melt under the touch. Apparently, I really like this sort of intimacy. And irony of all ironies, it’s waking my body in an entirely different way.

“I’ve got you, est amage,” he breathes, still stroking my hair, clearly unaware that my mind is in the gutter.

I flip around, wincing a little as I feel the faintest twinge through my various muscles.

My eyes meet his. His hair is mussed from sleep. It’s disarming, and it makes him look a smidge less intimidating.

But just a smidge.

Memnon lost his shirt somewhere between last night and this morning, and from this close, I can say with absolute authority that his body is a masterpiece, coiled muscles stacked on coiled muscles. The tattoos and scars only serve to make it look that much more lethal and appealing.

I force my gaze up to his.

“You stayed,” I say.

He runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, and the action is so goddess-damned sexy. He is so goddess-damned sexy.

“Of course I stayed,” he says, as though there was never another option. My blood heats at the fervency in his voice.

I want to touch him. Everything in me wants to touch and feel and mark and claim this man who looks like my own personal wet dream. Before I can act on any of these fantasies, the arm around my waist drags me forward, and then his mouth is on mine.

Memnon’s kisses, I’m coming to discover, are just as intense as every other part of him. His mouth moves over mine almost frantically. He kisses me like he may lose me at any moment.

“Little witch,” he says against my lips, “you ca

I eagerly meet each stroke of his lips with my own.

“You taste so fucking good, mate,” he says. “And you feel real like nothing else has since I woke.” He gathers me closer—

Off to the side of the bed, my phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. I bite back several colorful curses as I pull away.

Reluctantly, Memnon lets me go, but the look in his eyes makes it clear that he’s not done with me.

I trip out of bed, belatedly aware that I’m still only in a bra and undies and Memnon is getting an eyeful. I reach for last night’s bloody, shredded pants, where the sound of my phone is coming from. It’s only as I’m digging the phone out of my jeans that I realize I had it with me the entire time last night. Not that I had a spare moment to place a call between the witches and the clay creature.

“Hello?” I say, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Selene Bowers?” the voice on the other end says.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Officer Howahkan. We had a meeting scheduled for a half hour ago, but you never showed.”

My stomach drops. “What meeting?” What does the Politia want with me?

There’s a pause on the line. “We wanted to follow up and ask you a few more questions regarding the death of Miss Evensen.”

I know Charlotte was killed, but—

“I’m sorry, but what does her death have to do with me?”

There’s another long stretch of silence, long enough for me to realize that whatever the officer is talking about, I should remember it.

“You discovered her body,” he finally says.

“What?” I nearly yell into the phone. I was the one who found Charlotte’s body?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Memnon watching me like a hawk. I cross my arms over my chest and turn away from him, feeling like between my exposed flesh and this conversation, he’s seeing entirely too much of me.

There’s more tense silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, staring down at the scuffed-up floorboards. “I… My magic eats my memories.” I draw in a long breath. “Did I really find a body?”

I glance over my shoulder at Memnon, but he wears an unreadable expression.

Another pause from the officer. “Yes.”

I almost don’t believe him. I know there’s been a string of killings recently—I do remember that—I even remember ru

I head over to my desk, where my pla

Why do I not know what day it is?

“What’s today’s date?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“It’s October fifteenth.”

I find today’s date, and sure enough, there’s a 10:00 a.m. interview with the Politia written into it.

Hell’s fucking spells.

“Can I come over now?” I ask

“That’s fine.” The officer sounds like he’s beyond ready to end this call. “We’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone, still staring at my pla

“Little witch, your memory…”

I glance over at Memnon, who’s now sitting up in my bed, looking completely at home and entirely out of place.

His eyes are exceedingly soft as they search mine. “It has left you defenseless.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I am not defenseless.”

He scowls at me. “I have spent my entire life strategizing. I know a vulnerable position when I see one.”

I glare at him. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Not this one, no, but your last one…I have it memorized by heart.”

The look he’s giving me is too intense.

“I’m not Roxilana.” Of course, I remember that random name and not, you know, the dead body I apparently discovered some time ago.

Memnon doesn’t say anything to that, and his expression gives nothing away. I can’t say what his feelings are on the topic.

But that’s an issue for another time.

I turn my attention back to my pla

I flip to the previous week, and I read off everything I scheduled. To my horror, I can only remember a couple of events, like the lycanthrope party I attended with Sybil. But even that memory is mostly gone; only the end of the evening stands out, when Memnon attacked Kane. The dozen or so other events I wrote in might as well be for someone else; I recognize none of them.

I make a small noise. Has the memory loss ever been this bad?

“What’s the matter?” Memnon’s voice is right behind me. I jolt at the sound of it. I don’t know how he managed to sneak up on me.

I turn and get an eyeful of his chest.

“Selene?”

I glance up at him. Gone is the vicious man I’ve come to know. He looks genuinely concerned.

“My memories over the past week,” I say softly. “Most of them are gone.”

My hands shake, and my eyes well with tears.Damn it, I’m not going to cry. I saved a girl’s life last night. What are a few memories compared to that?

This is why I have my system in place. I’ll figure it out.

I let out a pathetic sniffle, one that Memnon had to hear.

“Ugh,” I say, swallowing. “I’m sor—”

Memnon gathers me to him, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t finish that sentence, little witch. You don’t ever need to apologize to me—not for this.”

My face is pressed against his massive chest, his body enveloping mine. I don’t let myself overthink the moment; instead, I wrap my arms around his torso and hold him close. It feels so good to be held.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “For your magic—and bringing me back here.”

Only now is it really registering that he stayed at my side the entire night. And hell must’ve frozen over because all I feel right now is relief that this terrifying human kept me safe.

He squeezes me tighter.

Unlike the past week, the events of last night are still very vivid, and the longer I’m in his arms, the more my mind drifts to them. I have a fuzzy memory of a shifter taking the girl—Cara—from me, but where is she now? Is she okay?

I’m not sure how to even go about finding out.

Then there was that monster. I can’t even begin to fathom what it actually was or how it was sentient. Only that the priestess seemed to control it.

I don’t even know if I actually destroyed it; the priestess managed to repair it once. Perhaps it could be repaired again.

Then I remember the witches who confronted me in the forest and in that odd grimoire room.

Then the rest of the night’s carnage comes back.

Nero tore chunks out of several of them. Those he didn’t, the lamassu attacked.

I can still see the witches’ slumped forms lying in the woods.

“My attackers…” I begin.