Page 112 of Bedeviled

And then Memnon’s spell disintegrates altogether.

I scream as the pain slams fully back into me. I feel every sharp laceration of the demon toxin as it sears my veins.

“Stop!” I beg, staring up at the dark sky. Tears slip from the corners of my eyes. “Please make it stop.”

“Selene.” Memnon’s voice is sharp like a knife. “Look at me.”

My eyes roll everywhere but to him.

“Look at me,” he says again in Sarmatian, and this time the king in him rides his voice.

My eyes snap to his face.

“Est amage, take my hand,” he instructs.

A small whimper escapes me, but I grip his hand.

“Good woman. Now, brace yourself.”

That’s all the warning he gives me.

He begins incanting in Mochica, and immediately fresh agony erupts across my body. It feels as though it’s wormed its way into every nerve ending, that it’s shredding through sinew and bone.

Then Memnon’s magic is there, inside me, shoving something out. My body is drenched in fluid—sweat, blood, poison, I cannot say.

At some point, the intensity of the agony draws back, just a bit—then a bit more, like dawn breaking on the horizon.

I find that I am lying in a pool of my own sweat, my hair plastered to my face. Enough awareness bleeds into me to sense that there are several presences around me, including one that’s pressed tightly to my side, but I’m only paying attention to the one right above me.

I stare into Memnon’s eyes, his jaw locked tight, a muscle in his cheek feathering as he grips my hand fiercely.

“Memnon,” I say, weary and relieved.

It’s like my saying his name is the permission he’s been waiting for. Memnon leans down and kisses me, his lips dragging against mine. I swear I can taste the metallic tang of his fear.

Gods, Selene. He lets out a shuddering breath. I don’t scare easily, but you had me afraid. He takes our clasped hands and presses mine against his chest. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, I can feel the gallop of his heart.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen him frightened on my behalf, but this time in particular looks like it’s shaken him.

That’s because it is much easier to heal a wound than it is to retrieve a stolen soul, Memnon says.

So the demon’s poison would’ve claimed my soul, just like Fyvyrius hinted at earlier. Goddess above.

I swallow, then push myself up into sitting position. It’s then that I realize the presence next to me is Nero, who must’ve made his way to me once he sensed I was in trouble, and who has now curled himself up at my side. I rest a tired hand on his fur, letting the big cat give my arm a gentle lick.

My eyes lift, and I see that sitting some distance away is Kane. He’s still in his lupine form, and now the wolf watches the group of us with unblinking eyes.

I reach out with a hand.

Kane’s wolf stares at me and my proffered hand for a long moment. Then he gets up and retreats into the darkness of the woods, where the night swallows him up.

“Thank you!” I call out after him, my voice hoarse and weak. I won’t pretend like Kane and I haven’t had our differences, but tonight when the need to give into his animal form and all the accompanying instincts were at their highest, he stayed by my side until he was sure I was okay. I won’t forget that.

Memnon helps me to my feet. I feel like I’ve been run through with a sword, then driven over by a semi.

I want a bath, then I want to bury myself in fluffy blankets.

“Then you shall have it.”