Page 35

Memnon’s eyes begin to glow again. Those glowing eyes, along with rustling hair, are signs a sorcerer is giving in to their power. When that happens, they run the risk of losing hold of their humanity and their control over the power they wield. This is when a sorcerer’s magic truly eats at their conscience.

But just as quickly as my mate’s eyes illuminate, they return to their normal hue.

They entered your room, even with the wards?Memnon asks. His gaze moves to my door.

I nod.

More of Memnon’s magic slithers out of him with my admission. It moves across the room and spreads over the surface of the door, and I’m sure that the sorcerer is setting yet another ward.

About the spell circle,I say down our bond, my gaze wandering to the panther tattoo that’s peeking out from his neck.This is what I know: the circles happen every new moon beneath this house—or at least they used to.I don’t know if they will move them after the shit show that happened last time.The only woman I know by name who was involved in it was Kasey. She was the witch who recruited me to attend the spell circle. Now she’s missing.

Memnon rubs his lower lip, watching me.The night they chased you through the woods, how many were injured?

I shake my head.I don’t know—at least a dozen.

Did anyone die?

I hesitate.At least one.Nero…Nero ripped out one woman’s throat.There might’ve been others as well. I wasn’t paying attention.

Memnon nods.When I went back to exact revenge, all the women—both alive and dead—were gone.Whoever got the dead and injured out of those woods made sure to scrub the area of their blood and any other evidence I might use to hunt them down. They were ready for a counterattack. Whatever is going on, this isn’t just some monthly gathering. They are organized, they have resources, and they know how to make bodies and evidence disappear—and they have access to the persecution tunnels beneath the house.

The thought is nauseating, now that I know these people have gotten through my wards and into my room. The persecution tunnel that leads out from beneath this very building connects to a vast network of subterranean tunnels. No one in this house is entirely safe if the tunnels are being exploited for nefarious purposes.

Memnon threads his fingers loosely together, his forearms resting on his thighs.Why would a well-organized group of supernaturals do their business in the tunnels beneath your coven?he asks down our bond.

I sense he knows the answer to this. I turn inward, thinking about it. The only thing that comes to mind is the most obvious answer, the one I already know.

Most of the members must live here.

Memnon nods.Or they’re trying to recruit witches from your house.

That is what happened to me. I just didn’t go along with it.

Memnon’s eyes flick over me, and though the conversation is a bit dark, a small smile curves his lips.

What?I say through our connection, trying not to notice the lock of hair that’s fallen in front of one of his eyes. I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear.

I like this,he admits.

You like what?

Us, studying our enemies, plotting out our next moves.

I frown, even though my heart speeds up.

The sorcerer stands, rescuing me from the moment. He moves to my door and tilts his head, studying the protective spells.

They shouldn’t have been able to get in here with all these wards in place.Memnon turns back to me.If I told you it wasn’t safe to stay here?—

There is no way I am staying with you in that burnt husk of a house, I say.

If it weren’t burnt?

That would also be ano.

The sorcerer stares at me, eyes narrowed, for a long beat. Then he smiles, like he relishes my anger. Turning back to the door, he murmurs in Sarmatian, “Guard this door against all those who wish Selene harm.”

His indigo power flows out of him, spreading across the door as he adds yet another ward to the growing knot of them. The plumes of his magic condense into lines of what looks like writing. The markings glow as they sink into the frame of the door, then dim until all that remains is the barely perceptible sheen of the spell.