“You dare to touch what is mine, wolf?” Memnon roars, his eyes beginning to glow.
His magic is mounting, and I feel the vicious intent of it as it swirls around us.
“Memnon, stop!” I shout as I swing myself off the bed.
Beneath the sorcerer’s hand, a partially shifted Kane now returns to his human form. Only…he’s not the one doing the shifting; Memnon seems to be, his power so dense, I taste it on my tongue. Kane growls and yelps the entire time as though every second of it is agonizing. Once he’s fully human, he’s drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.
“I will castrate you and feed you your own godsdamned dick for what you have done!” the sorcerer bellows.
There aren’t words for the terror coursing through my veins. But beneath it brews my anger.
I lift my hand, my rage channeling down my arm.
“Release him!” The words come out in another language, and with it, my power sweeps over the room, the sherbet-orange hue of my magic overtaking the dark blue plumes of his own.
I feel it the moment my spell catches hold.
Memnon must as well because for the first time since he broke in, he turns to me.
“Release him?” he says. He eyes the lycanthrope. “Fine.”
Rather than simply let Kane go, Memnon hurls the shifter out my broken window.
I cry out, horrified as I hear Kane’s body snap branches and rustle leaves as it falls.
My power flows out of me then, racing after Kane. There’s no spell or any intricate design to go along with it, just intent—save Kane.
Unfortunately, my power is too slow.
I rush over to the window in time to hear the dull thump of Kane hitting the ground, no magic there to soften the impact.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My magic recoils into me an instant later, and I feel that insidious tug inside my head, the one that indicates I lost another memory from using my power.
It doesn’t matter. Not when Kane may be out there dying.
I swing my leg out the gaping hole that was my window, but Memnon scoops me up from behind.
“First you trap me in a tomb and fuck me over for two millennia, and now you dare to break our unbreakable vows and touch another?” Memnon growls against my ear. The lilt of the ancient language curls around me like one long, unbroken memory.
Has this man forgotten our entire last conversation?
“I—am not—Roxilana!” I kick at him.
Memnon ignores the strikes and, clutching me close, he steps onto the broken windowsill, then leaps off.
For a moment, I’m weightless. Then we land, and my entire body jolts from the impact, my teeth clicking together.
I catch sight of Kane’s slumped form, and I let out a horrified scream.
There’s a pool of blood around him, and he’s lying there, unmoving.
I struggle in the sorcerer’s grip all over again, but Memnon holds me fast. And then, he begins to carry me away, just like those captive fae brides Sybil warned me about.
Oh, hell no.
“Let go of me!” The command comes out in Sarmatian, though I barely notice. I’m spitting mad and consumed with worry for Kane.
Memnon ignores my shrieks and my struggles, continuing to stride onward, into the darkened woods.
In the distance I sense my familiar, but when I slip into his mind, all I see is forest.
Come now! I call to him, though I don’t know if Nero heard or felt compelled by the command.
Moving back into my own mind is confusing because the scenery is nearly the same—more darkened trees.
Once I get my bearings, I strike out with my power. The sorcerer laughs. Laughs.
The fucking gall.
“Don’t insult me, Empress. You know you’ll have to do much more than that if you wish to harm me.”
“You psycho! Let me go!” I twist in his arms, my magic flaring out of me with my panic and anger. It doesn’t so much as loosen his hold.
We’ve long since lost sight of the coven house when Memnon finally stops, reluctantly setting me down.
I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding a mile a minute when I turn and catch sight of him. The moonlight falls upon his features, turning them sinister. They tug at my mind, and for one brief second, I’m somewhere else—
Memnon grabs the long length of his hair and withdraws a knife.
Before I can react, he brings his blade to his coarse dark locks, and with one brutal stroke, he cuts most of it off.
Then the image is gone. The same man stands before me, but his eyes are harder, the set of his mouth harsher. Despite how angry he looks, every inch of my skin buzzes with this electrifying awareness.