Page 170 of Bedeviled

I rage and bellow some more, even as my body is hoisted up and my power is extinguished.

Eislyn surveys the broken windows, even as a few of the other supernaturals begin to repair the glass.

She smooths her hair. “Well, that was quite a show.”

Had I thought I was powerless before?

This is true servitude.

The fairy’s eyes find mine, and they gleam with malicious excitement. “Oh, the plans I have for you,” she breathes. “I think we’ll start by dealing with your wife.”

CHAPTER 41

SELENE

Selene!

I startle awake, Memnon’s voice echoing in my mind.

I grasp my chest. Can’t breathe. It feels like it’s caving in.

Abruptly, the sensation disappears. There’s still a faint throbbing in my sternum, and I press the palm of my hand to it, like the pressure might make it go away.

I lick my lips, inhaling in sharp, shallow pants. Just another bad dream. My heart has settled since the last time I woke, but that fear hasn’t fully left, and my skin is covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

I reach for Memnon, but my hand closes on nothing but cool sheets.

Rubbing my eyes, I sit up, gathering the comforter around me as I listen for sounds of him in the bathroom or the hallway beyond.

The house is eerily silent.

“Memnon?” I call out.

Nothing.

I slip out of bed, unsurprised when Nero quietly moves to my side.

I pad over to the window, where stars twinkle high above the tops of evergreens. A sick, queasy feeling twists my insides.

I expect to hear starlings. I’m listening intently for their call.

It takes me a moment to realize why.

Panticapaeum, the night of the ambush. The night I died in my first life.

It began with this same feeling.

Something is off. So terribly, terribly off.

Memnon? I call down our bond. Not that I expect to hear him answer.

I shiver a little, and my heart hammers away.

Movement at the window catches my attention again. There, at the edge of the lawn. I strain my eyes to see it better.

With a sharp inhalation I realize it’s an arm. A bloody, writhing arm. The hair at the back of my neck rises.

The longer I stare, the more movement I notice. Hands, legs, arms, even a head—moving appendages.