Bewitched (Bewitched, #1)(114)

“We can’t come back from this?” His eyes spark with his power, and his grip on the woman in his arms tightens. “Est amage, I did not endure in that cold, bleak sarcophagus for two millennia to lose you all over again.”

The witch in his arms whimpers. There’s a growing number of tear tracks down her cheeks, ruining makeup she probably put on with excitement. Tonight was supposed to be fun, not some sort of nightmare.

“Let the woman go, Memnon,” I say again. My magic continues to gather, mounting beneath my skin and sliding through my veins. “This is between the two of us.”

Memnon’s gaze drops to the witch. More blood drips down her neck. She shifts, and I see her magic thickening beneath her palms, the emerald wisps of it dissolving inches from her. I don’t know what enchantment he’s placed on her, but it’s neutralizing her powers.

“How badly do you want her freedom?” he says. “What would you be willing to do for it?”

I’m caught off guard by the question. I feel all the eyes in the room on me. This bargain isn’t just for the witch in Memnon’s arms. It’s for Sybil and all the others here who are trapped under the sorcerer’s magic.

“What do you want?” I say, my power churning inside me.

“You know what I want.”

I suddenly remember his words from a week ago.

You are under a curse, mate. One made by your own hand. Of course we will remove it.

He wants me to remember our past. What would this revenge even be for if I couldn’t recall the crime that earned it?

My magic spikes in alarm, a little slipping out through my palms.

I look from him to the witch and back. I know this is where I’m supposed to capitulate, but I can’t. Not on this point, and not to this fucker.

So I choose violence instead.

“Explode,” I whisper.

My magic blasts out of me, and as it leaves, I get a dizzy head rush, my power eating through who knows how many memories. Only at the last minute do I think to hone it like a blade.

It slams into Memnon’s shins, knocking him backward. The witch in his arms screams as his dagger drags across her skin, slicing into her shoulder. But the cut is shallow and imprecise.

The moment the witch is free of Memnon, she scrambles away. The woman only makes it a few yards, however, before she gets tangled in the same spell that’s locked the limbs of the rest of the room.

I hear her frustrated cry, and the guests near her reach for the woman, murmuring to her in terror-laced whispers.

Memnon regains his footing, then gives a sinister low chuckle, “Naughty wi—”

“Explode.” I launch another spell at him.

This one hits him square in the chest, blowing him off his feet.

More magic gathers in my hand. “Explode.” I fire off. “Explode. Explode.” I’m forming and throwing the spells as quickly as I can. They hit him in quick succession, detonating against his body and knocking him back. One of them misses, shattering the window behind him.

I stalk forward, a vicious hunger rising in me. For revenge, for blood.

“Slice.” The spell slashes through his fancy suit and his skin, making it bloom red.

Thick indigo plumes of Memnon’s own magic pour out of him before pooling around his sprawled body and creeping across the floor.

Even with my strikes and the spells he’s already placed on the room, his own power seems to be growing.

I step up to him, each hit of mine only making me angrier and more resolved. Hurting him doesn’t feel good. I want it to—fuck, how I want it to—but it doesn’t, and that only seems to fuel my rage.

I scowl down at him.

The mighty sorcerer touches his chest, where his blood is spilling. He looks at the red liquid on his fingertips, then at me, his eyes glittering. “Have I told you, mate, that battles have always been my favorite sort of foreplay?”

His magic descends on me at once, throwing me back. I hit the ground hard, and the air leaves my lungs as my body slides across the dance floor.

Around us, the other guests are panicking, their shouts and cries filling the air, along with their magic. Memnon’s power wraps around the entire building, barricading everyone inside.

I haven’t even stopped sliding when my own magic strikes out at him again, the wordless spell lashing against him like a whip.

Memnon grunts at the impact, but then I see him pull himself to his feet.

More magic pours down my arms. “Explode.” I sling the spell from where I lie.

This time, a tendril of Memnon’s power swats it away, and it explodes against a cluster of trees and shrubs, blowing them apart and causing the nearby guests to scream.

I force myself to my feet as Memnon’s own shoes click against the ground. He runs his hands through his hair, looking bloody and violent in the most primal of ways.

I try to draw on Memnon’s own power through our bond—

“Ah, ah, little witch. That’s a cute idea, but I’m afraid I won’t be sharing my power for this.”

I reach for my own magic before flinging it at the sorcerer with abandon. His power rises to meet mine, the dark blue clouds of it crashing against my lighter orange ones, holding it at bay.

“Exquisite mate,” he says, his eyes beginning to glow. “I would fight you all evening just to watch your ferocity,” he says. “I hope you know it fills me with pride to see you unleash yourself.