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I don’t think—I launch myself at him. Memnon’s magic still holds my legs fast to the table, but I manage to claw at his eyes and tear that self-satisfied smirk from his face.

“Fuck,” he curses in Sarmatian, staggering out of my reach. Then he laughs. Laughs!

“Ah,est amage, I’ve missed your fiery side,” he says, stepping back into my space and catching one of my wrists.

“I will gut you for taking my memories, you asshole!” I manage to drag my nails down the other side of Memnon’s face before he’s able to capture my other wrist.

He grins wickedly. “I thought you didn’t mind losing them? You fought for your curse so passionately a week ago.”

“You hadnoright to take them,” I say vehemently.

Memnon ignores my words, his gaze moving to the open grimoire next to me. “Ah, is this the hateful spell?” He moves my wrists into one of his hands so he can place his palm on the book.

Beneath his hand, the page curls and blackens, and a wisp of smoke rises from the book.

I jerk fruitlessly against his grip, my mood darkening with every passing second. This spell was supposed to placate my rage, not enflame it. But it’s as though I’m reliving the book burning in my room all over again.

“You think you can break our bond and dispose of me as you did two thousand years ago?”

I sense his own rage rising, and his eyes illuminate with his power. I’m reminded all over again that a sorcerer’s magic draws from their conscience; as they grow stronger, their empathy grows weaker. I’m sensing that Memnon lost most of his back in antiquity.

“You will never be free of me, little witch. Never.”

I stare at the magic sparking in his eyes. I’m coming to find that there is nothing nearly so dangerous as a wronged sorcerer.

Memnon’s hand comes up, wrapping around my throat in the most featherlight grip. But between his spell nailing me to the table, his body pinning me in, and now his hand on my neck, I am completely immobilized.

“But you are right, I have given you more misery than passion. Perhaps it is time I reminded you of what it means to be with me.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Wait,what?

Before that thought has more than crossed my mind, Memnon kisses me.

CHAPTER41

Hateful,hateful man. With his wicked lips and wicked thoughts and wicked intentions.

He’s got some fuckinggallto dare kiss me after he’s upended my world.

So I bite his lip.Hard.

Memnon groans as the metallic tang of blood hits our tongues. The monster smiles against my mouth and deepens the kiss, as though the small violence is a turn-on for him. Despite my raging fury—and, oh, how it rages—I kiss him back, hungry for more of him. My fingers slide into his hair and pull it taut enough to hurt.

I hate that I do still want him when all I really want is to hate him.

Memnon’s fingers flex just the slightest bit against my throat, reminding me that he has me pinned and vulnerable, though it doesn’t make mefeelvulnerable. I feel as though I’m going to combust. Already, I know that if I open my eyes, I will see plumes of my magic seeping out of me.

“My empress is finally showing her true colors,” Memnon murmurs against my lips.

There’s nothing true about this at all—this is my worst side. But if my mate wants to cut himself on the sharpest parts of my personality,so be it.

When his tongue delves back into my mouth, I bite it. Memnon hisses, but again the action only serves to make him kiss me with more fervor. Fervor I return.

I can’t explain it. Thereisno explaining it. I hate his guts. I’d love nothing more than to kick him in the balls. But I’m also enjoying hate kissing the shit out of his lips. I’m pretty sure I’d be fine taking this hate all the way to the end of desire.

I think I’ve just unlocked a new kink.

Memnon pulls away. “You will know me in all ways,” he vows.