Bewitched (Bewitched, #1)(115)

“Unfortunately,” he continues, “I still need your help to lift our curse.”

I wipe the corner of my lips, where a little blood has slipped out from a cut in my mouth. “I’ll never agree to that.”

“But you will,” he insists. “See, I know your heart, Selene, better than anyone, so I know that while you may be willing to take me on alone, you’d never put others at risk.”

The first icy tendrils of true fear skate down my back.

“I will harm every single person in this room until you agree to lift the curse,” he vows.

My magic leaks out with my panic. “Memnon.”

“I do so love it when you say my name like that,” he says. “Agree to help me lift the curse, mate. Like you said yourself, no one else has to get hurt. This is between you and me.”

I glare at him as he uses my own words against me.

“Or we can do this the hard way.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when I hear a sharp inhalation.

To the right of me, a witch with dark curly hair clutches her throat. There’s seemingly nothing wrong with her, and yet she sways, reaching out and gripping a stranger’s shoulder as she tries and fails to draw breath.

On the opposite side of the dance floor, a mage grabs his neck, making pained choking noises as his canary-yellow magic moves restlessly around him.

Guest after guest clutches their throat, their breath seizing in their lungs until the entire conservatory is suffocating on nothing more than Memnon’s magic.

The room fills with panicked magic that’s tangling together and making the air hazy. All of it, however, is soon overwhelmed by the deep blue hue of Memnon’s power.

This time, my magic unleashes before I even consciously choose to fight back. It fills the room, the pale peach hue mixing with Memnon’s magic. I feel it pulling at the ends of my mate’s power, trying to draw the lethal magic away from the throats of all these supernaturals.

I grit my teeth as I meet resistance.

“Agree to lift the curse, mate.”

“No.” A wave of power explodes out of me, knocking Memnon’s away for a moment. I hear dozens of ragged gasps as, for a moment, people drag in a desperate breath of air.

My head throbs, and the edges of my vision turn hazy as memory after memory burns away. I don’t know which ones, but there’s a hollow ache in my chest at the loss.

Then the sorcerer’s power is back, clogging people’s windpipes and tightening like a noose around their necks.

I let out a frustrated cry and redouble my efforts.

I pull from the earth beneath me and the moonlight above me, drawing as much magic into myself as I can.

I form it crudely inside me, then funnel it down my arms and into my hands.

“Remove Memnon’s magic from their necks,” I incant, only belatedly realizing I’ve spoken in Sarmatian.

My magic races out of me, once again prying at Memnon’s.

Not enough. It’s not enough.

I force out more, more, more. My mind feels on fire, my magic straining like an overworked muscle.

“Impressive, my queen,” Memnon says across from me. His eyes glow like embers, and his hair ripples with his power. “Truly. I didn’t expect to have to give in to my truest nature for this fight.”

His magic strengthens against mine, and all the ground I thought I was gaining is undone at once.

I scream from exertion, nearly falling to my knees. Using this much magic all at once is becoming painful. I feel as though I’m ripping my own muscles away from their bones, the magic unmaking my body bit by bit.

Worse, despite my efforts, people are still suffocating; I can see their eyes bulging out and their faces changing colors as they’re deprived of oxygen.

I draw on yet more magic. The throbbing beneath my skull has increased, and the haze at the corners of my eyes has spread, obscuring my vision.

The first witch falls, her body hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Stop,” I plead.

“Agree, and I will.”

Another body falls. Then several.

Now I do drop to my knees, my muscles weak and shaking. I can hardly see him through my blurred vision. “Please, Memnon, end this.”

“I will, once you agree to my terms,” Memnon says.

Burning away, everything is burning away…my high school memories, then my childhood ones. I’m sure of it.

“Speaking of terms,” he continues, his hair billowing in some invisible wind, “there is one more demand I forgot to mention earlier.” He strides toward me, magic billowing out of him with every step he takes. “I’ll need you to agree to it too.”

I stare up at him as he comes up to me, his ominous form looming.

“Marry me.”





CHAPTER 43





“What?”

I want to laugh. I want to scream. Around us, bodies are still hitting the ground, and I’m the one on my knees, and this can’t possibly be an actual proposal.

Memnon’s hand slips beneath my chin. “Marry me.”

I can’t see him well through the strain shrouding my eyes, but my ears heard him correctly.

“Agree to lift the curse and be my wife in earnest, and I will release these people.”

“You’re sick,” I whisper.