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He nods in agreement, and now I’mreallynot following.

“Couldn’t you have healed yourself?” I ask slowly. “Or at least taken away your own pain?”

“I am a Sarmatian king, born to a warrior queen, raised from birth to fight?—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry I asked.” Memnon is apparently only practical when it comes to my injuries.

I press a hand lightly to his back and incant in Sarmatian, “Banish the pain to the far corners of the world.”

Thick plumes of my magic spread out beneath my palm, moving across the expanse of his back before sinking in.

Memnon gives me an arch look, like he disapproves of what I’m doing.

“Arguing is useless. I’m not going to let you walk around in pain just because you can bear it.”

Memnon’s bourbon eyes flicker, then soften. He’s a hard man, and I know from memory that he hates being fussed over. I also know nothing leveled him like when I took care of him in the past.

Even now, I can feel a whisper of adoration down our bond.

I look him over again. “I’m not leaving you like this.” I maneuver myself so that I’m wedged under his arm.

“Selene—”

“Arguing really is useless,” I remind him. “If you resist, I’ll simply command you to follow me.”

He huffs but lets me gingerly wrap my arm around his back. With a little help from my magic, I lead Memnon toward my house. Nero reluctantly leaves the butterfly, trailing after us.

Once we’re at the front door, the Medusa door knocker comes to life.

“Memnon the Indomitable, king of nomads, smiter of armies, what business do you have here?”

The knocker’s never done this before. Someone must have refreshed the house’s wards. Sure enough, when I focus on the air above the threshold, I make out the glinting edges of the ward’s magical, silver writing.

“He’s with me.” I grab the handle and shove the door open.

I force the sorcerer through the ward, the spell resisting him for only a moment before it lets him pass. I hold the door open long enough for my shadowy familiar to slip in as well.

The foyer smells like someone’s opened a portal to hell, the smell of sulfur thick in the air.

“Sorry! Sorry!” a witch in the spell kitchen shouts. “I fucked up!”

“Dude, were you trying to summon an imp?” says another witch in the kitchen.

Their conversation drifts away as I drag Memnon to the library on my right. Despite the chatter in the rest of the house, no one is in here at the moment, affording us a sliver of privacy.

The wall sconces buzz and the light flickers precariously as I lead Memnon deep into the room so that we’re hidden by aisles of books. I stop us at a scarlet couch.

“Sit,” I command, “and lean forward.”

My beloved queen,Memnon protests, even as he does what I say,this is not necessary.

“I disagree,” I reply as I follow him down to the couch. My heart has been beating a mile a minute since I discovered his injury. I don’t think I’ll be capable of relaxing until I’m sure he is okay.

Nero sits down next to Memnon’s legs, leaning against them for support. I see my sorcerer place a hand on the panther’s head, and a lump forms in my throat. Nero genuinely cares for Memnon, and Memnon genuinely cares for him.

I force my gaze to return to my mate’s back. My teeth scour my lower lip as I stare at his drenched black shirt. It’s so wet it clings to his back.That’s all blood.

I reach for the hem of it, then hesitate.