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“Not this one, no, but your last one…I have it memorized by heart.”

The look he’s giving me is too intense.

“I’m not Roxilana.” Of course, I remember that random name and not, you know, the dead body I apparently discovered some time ago.

Memnon doesn’t say anything to that, and his expression gives nothing away. I can’t say what his feelings are on the topic.

But that’s an issue for another time.

I turn my attention back to my planner. There are other things written in it, like the Samhain Witches’ Ball, which is two weeks from now, that I’ve literally never heard of. And then there’s a paper due on Wednesday on the use of fresh versus dried ingredients in spellwork. Sounds boring as shit, and maybe that’s why I have no recollection of the thing.

I flip to the previous week, and I read off everything I scheduled. To my horror, I can only remember a couple of events, like the lycanthrope party I attended with Sybil. But even that memory is mostly gone; only the end of the evening stands out, when Memnon attacked Kane. The dozen or so other events I wrote in might as well be for someone else; I recognize none of them.

I make a small noise. Has the memory loss ever been this bad?

“What’s the matter?” Memnon’s voice is right behind me. I jolt at the sound of it. I don’t know how he managed to sneak up on me.

I turn and get an eyeful of his chest.

“Selene?”

I glance up at him. Gone is the vicious man I’ve come to know. He looks genuinely concerned.

“My memories over the past week,” I say softly. “Most of them are gone.”

My hands shake, and my eyes well with tears.Damn it, I’m not going to cry. I saved a girl’s life last night. What are a few memories compared to that?

This is why I have my system in place. I’ll figure it out.

I let out a pathetic sniffle, one that Memnon had to hear.

“Ugh,” I say, swallowing. “I’m sor—”

Memnon gathers me to him, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t finish that sentence, little witch. You don’t ever need to apologize to me—not for this.”

My face is pressed against his massive chest, his body enveloping mine. I don’t let myself overthink the moment; instead, I wrap my arms around his torso and hold him close. It feels so good to be held.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “For your magic—and bringing me back here.”

Only now is it really registering that he stayed at my side the entire night. And hell must’ve frozen over because all I feel right now is relief that this terrifying human kept me safe.

He squeezes me tighter.

Unlike the past week, the events of last night are still very vivid, and the longer I’m in his arms, the more my mind drifts to them. I have a fuzzy memory of a shifter taking the girl—Cara—from me, but where is she now? Is she okay?

I’m not sure how to even go about finding out.

Then there was that monster. I can’t even begin to fathom what it actually was or how it was sentient. Only that the priestess seemed to control it.

I don’t even know if I actually destroyed it; the priestess managed to repair it once. Perhaps it could be repaired again.

Then I remember the witches who confronted me in the forest and in that odd grimoire room.

Then the rest of the night’s carnage comes back.

Nero tore chunks out of several of them. Those he didn’t, thelamassuattacked.

I can still see the witches’ slumped forms lying in the woods.