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Memnon steps up behind me. “Wear it for Selene’s sake, and I will give you a fresh cut of venison as soon as we get inside.”

Nero’s tail twitches with irritation, but he lowers his head and allows me to tie the protective amulet around his neck.

I give Memnon a look over my shoulder, partly annoyed but mostly grateful that his bribe worked.

“This is only a temporary solution,” I promise.

As soon as it’s secured, Nero heads toward the house, tail still twitching with his agitation.

He’ll get over it.Memnon says down our bond.Now, come,est amage. Let’s get you settled.

My eyebrows lift when I catch my first glimpse inside Memnon’s house. Clusters of pillar candles line every available surface—shelves, side tables, even the ground in some locations—their wax dripping all over the place.

Fifty dollars says I’m going to accidentally knock one of them over and start another fire in this house.

There’s a whisper-soft sound that accompanies hundreds of tiny flames burning through wicks, and it draws my magic up to the surface of my skin. I reach out as I pass a cluster of candles, running my fingers through the flames.

The front door clicks closed behind me, and I hear Memnon set down my bags. When I glance back at him, he’s watching me carefully; his head is tilted just a little, gauging my reaction.

“Are these more witchy details for me to appreciate?” I ask.

“No,” he says, coming to me. He moves to my front and continues to peer at my face, his smoky amber eyes shining in the dim light. “I simply wanted to remember the way firelight danced on your face.”

He continues to gaze at me, and his expression makes my heart skip. He used to look at me like this all the time. I didn’t know it was something I missed until this very moment. Unthinkingly, I take a step toward him, my eyes dropping to his lips.

What would happen if I decided we could be something other than enemies—or even something besides allies with benefits? What if I gave in to my deepest hidden wants the way witches are encouraged to do?

The thought is too tantalizing to pass up, especially when Memnon is right here, waiting for me to do something.

Very carefully, very deliberately, I wrap my hand around his neck, drawing his face down to mine. His eyes burn bright as I lean in and press a kiss to his lips, enjoying a brief taste of him.

His hands move to my arms, but already I’m slipping out of his reach.

I’m playing a dangerous game with this man. I know it, and I can see evidence of it—there’s a calculating edge to my soul mate’s expression, one that makes my pulse thrill. He’s looking at me like he’s sighted prey.

Thanks to the forged bond between us, I’m also completely in control. One word from me and I can change the entire flow of this evening.

I could get drunk on this sort of power. And I just might.

While Memnon makes good on his promise to Nero and gets the panther his slab of meat, I quickly send my mom my nightly proof-of-life text, this time along with a photo of me blowing her a kiss. Then I wander into the house’s dining room. The sight before me stops me in my tracks.

The long, carved oak table in front of me is laden with platters of food. Grapes spill from bowls, cheeses sit next to thickly cut slices of bread, and a whole-ass roasted chicken glistens on a platter.

A thin, glittering plume of Memnon’s magic covers the space. I run my hand through the magic, watching with no little awe as it shifts, moving toward me as though I’m a lodestone.

I’ve seen this spell many times before—it’s a laughably mundane one. A spell for freshness—to keep meat warm, bread soft and moist, produce crisp, and dairy from souring.

Memnon enters the room then, moving to the other side of the table where he tracks my movements over more candlelight.

As I play with his magic, the spell dissipates, my touch enough to break it. Between the flickering candlelight, the deep shadows, and the heavily laden table, I’m reminded of that final dinner, right before we were betrayed.

But I cannot think of it without remembering how it ended. I can still hear the pounding footsteps of the Roman soldiers closing in on me that night. I can still see the bloody bodies of Memnon’s mother and sister. Their bones have been ground to dust, their lives just a ghost of a memory. Civilizations have come and gone, and the world has forgotten.

All that’s left is us. Just us.

I push away the bleak thought.

“This looks like it was a lot of work,” I say softly.