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“You know what I want,” he challenges. “It’s the one thing I’ve wanted since I first woke.”

Me, I think he means.

Yet he’s just sitting there, waiting. As thoughI’msupposed to come tohim.

I feel a rising restlessness in me.

You could, a small voice inside me says.You could do anything you want. Anything at all. You could even give in to those deep, hidden desires. You’re in control.

My magic snaps out of me, half in agitation, half in eagerness, blowing out all the candles and leaving us in darkness. I didn’t consciously choose to extinguish the last of the light, yet once it’s gone, I don’t try to relight the candles. Instead, I flick my wrist, and platters careen into each other as my power sweeps them away from the middle of the table.

In the darkness, I stand, then I step onto the table. I don’t entirely know what I’m doing, but my magic is rushing through my veins, and my bond is beckoning me closer. The wood creaks beneath my weight as I cross it. I step down, right into Memnon’s lap.

“Is this what you want?” I ask, placing my hands lightly on his shoulders.

The sorcerer’s hands come to rest on my hips. “Yes,” he breathes, his eyes glinting in the darkness. The rain patters above us, making the space feel particularly intimate. “But you don’t need to concern yourself with what I want. What doyouwant?”

This is a trap, one expertly set. It’s too late for me to care.

“I want you,” I whisper into the darkness.

I lean forward, and my lips meet his. The kiss I give him is rough, resentful. I don’t want to want him, but I do.

Memnon grabs a fistful of my hair, tugging on it just as roughly as he kisses me back.Then you shall have me.

Memnon’s hands return to my hips, and he stands, lifting me with him. I assume he’s going to set me on the edge of the table, but instead, he carries me out of the dining room.

The rest of the house is still illuminated by the burning candles. We pass Nero, who’s gnawing on the bone Memnon gave him with his meat, and we head toward the back of the house. As we go, my power snuffs out candles one by one, banishing the light from this house. I don’t mean to do it, but my magic is enjoying acting out tonight.

I’m too busy kissing Memnon to much care.

There are no candles in my mate’s bedroom. The only light comes from the moon and the streetlamps outside. I begrudgingly appreciate that the sorcerer didn’t assume his plan would lead back here.

I’m still kissing him when he sits down on the bed, keeping me perched in his lap. We’ve done this a thousand times before, and Memnon is usually stripping away my clothes by now and spreading my legs apart.

But not tonight.

Tonight he’s reserved, which only seems to further draw out this wild, restless aspect of my magic. Ropes of my power reach out, mostly to caress Memnon in the darkness but also to knock shit about. As my magic moves around us, it also forms a few witch orbs, the pale orange light floating up near the ceiling.

Ever since Memnon forged the bond between us, he has seemed somewhat reluctant to be with me.

The sorcerer reaches out and tucks a stray strand of my hair. Judging by the way he looks at me, I can tell he heard that last thought.

“You believe that I’ve manipulated you into everything. And I have. For weeks, I have. I don’t want you to believe that when I’m inside you, I’ve manipulated you into that as well. That’s the one line I chose to never cross, even when I was angry and wrathful toward you. And I still refuse to cross it until you are sure of me. So for now, when it comes to sex, you’ll have to lead.”

Again I feel my earlier agitation, along with my growing desire. “I could command you to lead.”

“You could. You would still be leading.”

I disentangle myself, if only to put a little distance between us. I can’t think when I’m so close to him.

I assumed this was a trap, one meant to lure me in. But maybe it’s not. Maybe the only trap is my own conflicting emotions.

I want Memnon. I have wanted him for a while. And I’m tired of fighting it, but I’m scared of setting aside my bitterness, of letting go of my animosity. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for that.

As I back away from the bed, my eyes snag on a black duffel bag with an iron chain hanging partially out of it.

Not a chain, I realize.