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My nausea rises, and I force it down.Barf later, once you’ve escaped.

I feel rather than see a plume of inky-blue magic wrap around my waist like a phantom arm. I cry out, even as more of Memnon’s—and it must be Memnon’s—power fills the air around me, until it obscures the forest and buildings and the darkening sky.

Come to me, my queen…

I’m breathing harshly as I stop. I feel the tug of his power already, seeping into my skin and slipping into my lungs.

You left me before, but not again…never again…

The compulsion to follow that voice builds within me. I can’t tell what sort of spell this is, but itmustbe one.

I follow the line of indigo magic back to the tree line. It continues deep into the Everwoods forest. I take a step toward it, even as my rational mind screams at me that I’m being enchanted.

But my blood is heating, and my skin throbs at every soft brush of Memnon’s power.

Don’t be a fool, Selene! It’s just his magic lulling you into some false sense of safety.

I pinch my eyes shut, keeping my feet rooted in place.

Return to me, Empress. We have been parted for too long…

There’s something sensual in those words and that voice, something that reminds me of the Memnon from my dreams. It breaks my resistance altogether.

I take a halting step forward. Then another. It’s hard to fight that voice when my deepest, most innate senses are coaxing me toward it.

I think I’m being bespelled. That has to be what this is. I wish I hated it more than I do.

I make it to the tree line, my eagerness mounting. The longer Memnon’s magic grips me, the more intoxicating it becomes.

About fifty feet into the woods, the smoky magic dissipates.

I tense, glancing around. My flesh prickles with awareness.

Memnon steps out from the darkness like some nightmarish vision. Only, fuck, this man is real. And he’s even more devastatingly beautiful than in my memories.

My gaze moves over his tall frame, and it sweeps over his broad shoulders. I can see the tattoos running down his sculpted arms. Even in a T-shirt and jeans, this man looks all warrior.

My eyes move to his face, and if I weren’t still ensnared by his magic, I would’ve staggered back.

In my dream, Memnon’s intense beauty was heightened by desire and flame. Now, however, in the darkness where the shadows are deep and unforgiving, Memnon simply looks brutal—his cheekbones sharp, the curve of his lips cruel, and those luminous eyes wrathful. It’s a small mercy that I can’t see his scar. I don’t think I could take seeing that violence on display right now.

He steps forward, moving with a menacing sort of grace. “Did you really think I was done with you?” he says softly in that old language, his voice rolling and guttural. I understand him with alarming clarity. “That I would leave you in that tomb to rot as you left me?” He shakes his head slowly. “No, no, no.”

My pulse quickens. “Why did you follow me here?” I demand in English.

“Speak to me in our tongue, Roxilana!” he snarls.

“I don’t know ‘our tongue’!” I shout backin another language.The words welled from somewhere deep within me just as they did back in Memnon’s tomb.

A small sound escapes me, and I clutch my throat.

See, the thing is, that was technicallynota lie. While I have always been able to understand Latin and Ancient Greek—and even read a bit of Ancient Egyptian—I’ve never spoken this language. At least, not that I remember.

Memnon stalks forward before grasping my upper arms. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but itwillend.”

This close to Memnon’s staggering form, I feel particularly small and helpless.

“Let me go,” I say in that ancient language. Again, I don’t mean to speak it; it just flows from me. I’d marvel at it, but my fear is pushing out every other emotion.