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We’re going to clean it up together,he says, not bothering to call me out on the lie.

My annoyance spikes…along with a traitorous warmth that loosens the tightness in my chest.

Memnon glances out across the main lawn and toward the coven’s main entrance and the thick forest beyond.

You told me not to hurt Lauren,he says.If you lift the order, I can?—

If I lift the order,I finish for him,you’ll kill her.

He’s quiet. He knows as much.

After a moment, he says,If I don’t stop her, more witches will get bonded against their will.

I pinch my eyes shut.I know.

Killing her would be convenient, but I can’t just order her death. That takes a sort of coldness that I don’t have.

I shake my head.We need to find this Lia and stopher.

She’s the puppet master pulling the strings here. It doesn’t help that she’s apparently taken a keen interest in me.

We’ll find her,Memnon promises,I was able to get her number off Lauren’s phone. I’ll see what I can do with it.Memnon’s gaze flicks down to me.But be warned, whoever Lia is, if she is truly forcing bonds on these witches and making them recruit more victims, she is probably highly evil and very dangerous.

What he means is that eventually, he will likely have to kill her. I’m glad he doesn’t voice it, because I don’t think I would stop him, and I’m not ready to deal withthatawful truth on top of everything else.

Instead, I say,There’s no one worse than you.

His eyes twinkle menacingly.

Est amage, I’m counting on that.

Eventually, we make it back to my room.

Nero has also returned and has ditched his cat bed to instead sleep sprawled on my comforter, letting out adorable little huffs that I think are cat snores.

At least one of us is at peace. I’m still turning over the fact that an instructor at Henbane is luring witches to the same spell circles I was lured to. That this instructor fought me as I tried to escape with Cara, the shifter girl.

I feel Memnon’s eyes on me, and I turn to look back at him. He lingers in the doorway, a lock of his black hair hanging over his eye. Gone is the aggressive, angry man I’ve gotten so used to over the last several weeks. I can still sense his violence—that’s as much a part of him as anything else—but it’s tucked away at the moment.

Instead, I sense the sharp ache of his love through our bond. Somewhere during our evening, his eyes lost their haunted look. But now the hollowness is back.

There is a huge part of me that wants to reach out and touch him just to remove that expression from his face.

Do you want to discuss the murders now?my mate asks.

I’m tired to my bones. And hungry.

“Another night.” I’ll pick Memnon’s brain on this when I’m sharp enough to ask the right questions.

Memnon’s expression has shifted a little. Now he’s looking at me like he’s caught sight of salvation.

Tentatively, he reaches out, his knuckles a hairsbreadth from my cheeks.

“Don’t,” I say.

He swallows, his hand still extended. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough.

I want to tell him that his help changes nothing. That being bound to me changes nothing. That his remorse and even his friendliness and every other disarming part of him changesnothing.