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Magic surges from me, slicing through the last of the spells coating the coffin. The pale orange plumes of it gather around the stone lid. It’s eerily silent as my power lifts the carved slab into the air, then slides it aside. Only once it’s completely clear of the sarcophagus does it fall.

BOOM!

The lid hits the ground, cracking apart. Clumps of dirt trickle from the ceiling and the earth tremors, just a little. I wave my hand at the cloud of dust it kicks into the air.

Once the dust and the magic settle, I peer into the open sarcophagus, my pulse racing.

Resting within it is a man—a stunning,flawlessman.

This is no mummy—this isn’t even a fresh corpse. His chest isn’t rising or falling, but his olive-toned skin has a ruddy, sun-kissed appearance. It’s almost as though he were out in the sun hours ago and merely came in here to rest. And yet, if it were that simple, he would have woken up by now.

Even asleep, this stranger is the most mesmerizing person I’ve ever seen. I stare at his sharp high cheekbones, then his subtly hooked nose. His coarse black hair curls around his ears, and his lips…I can already tell those full, curving lips were made for wetting panties and ruining girls’ hearts.

A wicked scar cuts from the corner of his left eye toward his ear before sharply plunging down to the edge of his jaw.

Memnon seems like a badass. A hot, violent badass.

My pounding pulse grows louder and louder as I continue to stare. Something is happening inside me, something that has little to do with this man’s dangerous beauty.

Over my heart my magic gathers, the sensation so sharp, so visceral, I have to place a trembling hand over my chest just to tamp it down.

I move my gaze to Memnon’s broad chest, which is covered in scale armor. Unlike his physical form, the armor he wears appears brittle and tarnished. His leather trousers and boots look even worse off, the clothing rotted away completely in certain places. The tunic he wears beneath the armor is all but gone. Only the sheathed dagger at his hip looks like it’s in decent condition—that and the golden rings he wears.

My love…

My gaze snaps back to Memnon’s face, my breath leaving me at the endearment. I’m sure it wasn’t meant for me, but I’m moved by it all the same.

As I stare at him, I feel the strangest sort of longing, like my heart is shattering and reforming.

I lift a hand, reaching for him. Whatever force drove me here now desperately wants to touch this man—Memnon the Cursed.

Free him, my mind whispers.Rouse him from his deathless sleep.

When my hand is a hair’s breadth from Memnon’s face, I hesitate, remembering myself for a moment. But then I’m sucked under the spell of this place and the magic surrounding us. Tentatively, I press my fingertip to the edge of that scar near his eye.

I bite back a yelp when the skingivesbeneath my fingers. It has the icy chill of death clinging to it, but it’s—it’ssupplethe way living skin is.

Slowly, I trace the scar, following the line of it to his ear, then down, to the edge of his jaw. My hand brushes against his hair, and there is an ache in me so deep. So, so deep.

Free me…little witch…please…

The sound of his voice only sharpens that ache.

How long I have waited…for you…only you…

I place my hand against the man’s cheek, ignoring the way that inky-blue magic is filling up this room and that shrewd little voice inside my head is screaming at me to run from this place.

Instead, I draw in a sharp breath, then speak a single command in the same language that surrounds us. “Obat’iwavak.”

Wake.

CHAPTER7

Wind tears through the chamber,nearly extinguishing the torches. A scream rises, and another voice fills the room.

What have you done?it wails.

I pull my hand from the man’s cheek, blinking away the strange daze that’s shrouded me ever since my plane crashed.