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“Ah, ah, little witch. That’s a cute idea, but I’m afraid I won’t be sharing my power for this.”

I reach for my own magic before flinging it at the sorcerer with abandon. His power rises to meet mine, the dark blue clouds of it crashing against my lighter orange ones, holding it at bay.

“Exquisite mate,” he says, his eyes beginning to glow. “I would fight you all evening just to watch your ferocity,” he says. “I hope you know it fills me with pride to see you unleash yourself.

“Unfortunately,” he continues, “I still need your help to lift our curse.”

I wipe the corner of my lips, where a little blood has slipped out from a cut in my mouth. “I’ll never agree to that.”

“But you will,” he insists. “See, I know your heart, Selene, better than anyone, so I know that whileyoumay be willing to take me on alone, you’d never put others at risk.”

The first icy tendrils of true fear skate down my back.

“I will harm every single person in this room until you agree to lift the curse,” he vows.

My magic leaks out with my panic.“Memnon.”

“I do so love it when you say my name like that,” he says. “Agree to help me lift the curse, mate. Like you said yourself, no one else has to get hurt. This is between you and me.”

I glare at him as he uses my own words against me.

“Or we can do this the hard way.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when I hear a sharp inhalation.

To the right of me, a witch with dark curly hair clutches her throat. There’s seemingly nothing wrong with her, and yet she sways, reaching out and gripping a stranger’s shoulder as she tries and fails to draw breath.

On the opposite side of the dance floor, a mage grabs his neck, making pained choking noises as his canary-yellow magic moves restlessly around him.

Guest after guest clutches their throat, their breath seizing in their lungs until the entire conservatory is suffocating on nothing more than Memnon’s magic.

The room fills with panicked magic that’s tangling together and making the air hazy. All of it, however, is soon overwhelmed by the deep blue hue of Memnon’s power.

This time, my magic unleashes before I even consciously choose to fight back. It fills the room, the pale peach hue mixing with Memnon’s magic. I feel it pulling at the ends of my mate’s power, trying to draw the lethal magic away from the throats of all these supernaturals.

I grit my teeth as I meet resistance.

“Agree to lift the curse, mate.”

“No.” A wave of power explodes out of me, knocking Memnon’s away for a moment. I hear dozens of ragged gasps as, for a moment, people drag in a desperate breath of air.

My head throbs, and the edges of my vision turn hazy as memory after memory burns away. I don’t know which ones, but there’s a hollow ache in my chest at the loss.

Then the sorcerer’s power is back, clogging people’s windpipes and tightening like a noose around their necks.

I let out a frustrated cry and redouble my efforts.

I pull from the earth beneath me and the moonlight above me, drawing as much magic into myself as I can.

I form it crudely inside me, then funnel it down my arms and into my hands.

“Remove Memnon’s magic from their necks,” I incant, only belatedly realizing I’ve spoken in Sarmatian.

My magic races out of me, once again prying at Memnon’s.

Not enough. It’s not enough.

I force out more, more, more. My mind feels on fire, my magic straining like an overworked muscle.