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The heat is making me dizzy. “You don’t?” I ask.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. Louder, he says, “Of course I do. But not when you’re half dead and delirious from blood loss.”

“I’m not delirious,” I say, even as I sway.

Memnon steps into the last of my personal space and takes one of my arms. He focuses on scrubbing up and down it. “You are,” he insists. “Besides,” he adds, moving to my other arm, “I got the impression I was in your bed yesterday because of a potion and nothing more.”

I frown, not liking how my reasons sound coming out of his lips. Especially not after Memnon helped me this evening. I hadn’t commanded him to come, and I didn’t need some fancy friendship pact for him to show up. It’s just what Memnon does for me, what he’s always done for me.

He continues washing my body, the strokes of his hands decidedly not sexual, even as they move over my torso.

“It’s annoying when you’re honorable,” I say.

He grabs more soap, then kneels down to wash my legs.

“Why is that?”

The steam is getting to me. I feel lightheaded, nauseous.

“It makes it harder to hate you,” I confess.

Memnon glances up from where he kneels, the water slicking his hair back. I reach out for his face just as I sway again.

“Selene—”

My vision darkens. When it clears again, I’m in the sorcerer’s arms, and the water is cooling.

“Did I pass out?” I ask, my torso pressed against his. I’m about eye level with his pecs, and I get an intimate view of the dragon tattoo over his heart.

“I caught you,” he says, keeping me upright.

I draw my gaze up, meeting his eyes. His hands stay on me, and though I don’t necessarily need the continued support,I don’t move out of his embrace. I think we’re both fooling ourselves about how weak I am until I begin to shiver.

“Shit.” Memnon uses one hand to pull me in closer to him and the other to nudge up the temperature until it’s lukewarm.

Still, my shivers don’t fully abate.

“I want to get you out of here,” he says, frowning. “You’re still lightheaded.”

His fretting is disarming.

“Just a little longer,” I insist. I still feel like I have dirt in my hair and dark magic on my skin. I press my cheek against his chest. “I trust you to keep me safe.”

I can’t see his face, but his hold tightens on me.

Without letting me go, he reaches for a bottle of shampoo and gets a little on his hand. Indigo magic flows out of him, wrapping around my midsection and holding me up so he can scrub my hair with both hands.

I stare up at him. The two of us are caught between hate and love, and we’ve found a tentative alliance right in between the two. Memnon is doing everything he can to prevent me from hating him again, and I’m doing what I can to not topple headfirst into caring about him.

He tilts my head back to wash off the shampoo.

“Did you see who was attacking Nero?” he asks.

I close my eyes, my nausea rising again at the memory.

“They were all witches, I think. Two of them…” My voice catches. I open my eyes. “Two of them live in my house at Henbane.”

Memnon’s eyes are sharp as he watches me.