“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.