Page 13 of Bedeviled

Memnon gives my hands a squeeze.

I clear my throat of these strange, old emotions.

The words come to me as though they were always there, waiting for me to grab them.

“There I am,” I finish, the Latin words rolling off my tongue.

If this were ancient Rome, that would be it—the sum total of the vows spoken before the gods to bind us together. And, swept up in the glittering hues of Memnon’s tiger eyes, I forget, for an instant, that it is not.

The officiant leans forward and whispers, “The ring.”

Oh, right.

I reach into my cleavage, where I tucked away Memnon’s wedding band earlier. It’s not exactly the most romantic place to stash a ring, but then, Memnon’s smirk tells me he doesn’t entirely disapprove.

Pulling it out, I take the sorcerer’s hand once more and slide the gold band onto his finger, my own hands trembling as I do so. Across our bond, I can feel the heat of his emotions as he stares down at the ring.

“By the power vested in me through the House of Keys and the greater supernatural word, I declare you husband and wife before all the gods.” The officiant smiles at us. “You may now kiss your spouse.”

My focus sharpens for this, and despite my pain and my fears, I’m the one that leans forward first.

Memnon releases my hands to hold my face, his touch featherlight and his eyes shining like stars. And when he dips his head and his lips brush against mine, the touch is soft and reverent, and in it is another vow: I will love you, always.

My hands move to his jaw and the back of his head, threading through his silken hair. I let myself get swept up in the tide of this kiss. The warmth of his mouth, the urgency of his lips, the stroke of his tongue against mine when it inevitably deepens.

And then it’s over, but the rush it left in its wake leaves me unbalanced. I stare at Memnon like I’m seeing him for the first time. Like we aren’t just enemies or reluctant allies or old flames, but like we are true loves, forged from the same fires, meant to find each other again and again through the ages.

Memnon’s gaze searches mine, and there’s a smile on his face, one that keeps growing back every time it wanes, like he cannot escape the pleasure of this moment, even though his eyes are pinched and sweat still gathers on his skin.

I press a hand to my sternum, my chest still tight, my body still throbbing. The pain from the binding spell continues to flare bright. And damnit, I can still hear the click of that camera. Those are going to make for some interesting wedding photos.

Why hasn’t the pain gone away? I ask Memnon.

It will, est amage, he says, moving to my side. There is just one more thing we must do.

If the oath expects me to consummate this with you while I feel like someone is carving out my insides, I will mutiny.

Or, you know, give myself up for dead.

Memnon, despite looking a little sick around the edges, lets out an honest laugh. And here I was sure masochism was a kink of yours.

I give him a scathing look. I don’t have kinks, I remind him.

Uh huh. Memnon’s expression makes it plain that he thinks I’m a liar. I promise it is nothing nearly so exciting as sex.

He presses a hand to the bare skin of my back and shepherds me forward, toward the officiant.

The latter has made his way to a briefcase he must’ve tucked away for the ceremony. From it he now pulls forth a clipboard with a document clipped to it.

“Truly a delight to see two souls come together,” the man says. “The last thing I need from both of you are your signatures on this marriage license.”

Oh.

Of course. Anyone can utter wedding vows. It’s the documentation these days that actually makes them binding. Funny that magic would recognize the difference.

While Nero wanders off to chase poor, innocent sparrows, my eyes skim over the document, lingering on House of Keys written in bold at the top; it’s the main governing body of the supernatural world, and today, it’s what’s recognizing our marriage.

The form has already been prefilled with all the required information, and if I were feeling less like some shriveled-up animal part I’d use for a spell, I might dwell on the fact that Memnon arranged all of this, even going so far as to fill in our information far back enough for it to be printed out here, today.