Page 18 of Bedeviled

You do.

He takes the plate from me then and pulls a piece of the vanilla layer cake off the plate and moves it to my lips.

Memnon’s eyes search mine, a secretive smile on his lips. “Open up, little witch.”

I part my lips and let him place the piece of cake on my tongue. And it might be the most decadent cake out there, but I can’t seem to taste its flavor with Memnon standing so close and drinking me in like it really has been two thousand years since we last saw one another.

His eyes move over me like he can commit my face to memory. “Strange magic, isn’t it?” he says softly.

I swallow down the bite, my thumb wiping away the last remnants of sugar from my lips. “What do you mean?”

“The love that brought us together was too powerful even for death.”

My skin pricks at that.

He turns from me then and sets the plate of cake aside in exchange for the chilled champagne and the two glasses. Gripping the flutes and the bottle in one hand, he grabs a throw blanket folded in a nearby basket and tosses it over his shoulder.

I don’t know precisely what he has up his sleeve now, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t eager to see exactly what his plans entail. So I let him lead me back out of the small glass-and-wood house and farther down the hill.

The autumn air carries a sharp chill to it, especially now that the sun is lowering in the sky. I shiver, an action Memnon notices.

“Let the wind and the cold not touch us, but the warmth of a phantom fire breathe upon our skin,” he says in Sarmatian.

In an instant, the frigid air seems suffused with warmth. I flash him a grateful look.

Only a few short steps later, an amazing view of the ocean opens up, and it’s here that Memnon stops and lays out the blanket.

The nearby foliage rustles then, and Nero prowls out from between two bushes, rubbing against me and Memnon before flopping down on the freshly laid blanket.

“Wow,” I say.

Nero’s tail flops in response. It’s so obvious the big cat does not give a shit that he has taken the entire blanket for himself.

“Listen, great and fearsome creature, pride of my queen,” Memnon says, “I have no issue with sharing space with you. However, I will not hesitate to take my mate here before all the gods and my ancestors, with or without your⁠—”

Memnon hasn’t even finished his filthy little speech when my panther is up and off the blanket, moving his lithe form back between the shrubs.

For a cat that licks his butt right in front of me, he can be surprisingly modest.

The sorcerer turns to me. “That worked better than intended.”

I glance at the champagne bottle and the glass flutes he brought with him, which now rest near the blanket.

“Is that why you brought me out here?” I ask. “Because you want to—” My voice catches before I force the next words out. “Consummate this under the stars?”

Something in his expression is playful. “I am forever hungry for you,” he admits, “but no, I did not bring you out here under the stars for that purpose.” The levity bleeds from his features. In a more hushed tone he admits, “There is one more set of vows I’d like to say.”

I hesitate.

He smiles ruefully at me. “Est amage, what more could you possibly be hesitant over? We are already married. There is no such thing as being more married than we already are.”

Knowing Memnon, there is.

He laughs, looking both devious and delighted. “Fine, you’re right. I would absolutely tie you tighter to me if I could get away with it, but truly, there is no ploy in this. This one is simply for us, if you’ll allow it.”

My curiosity eclipses the argument sitting on the tip of my tongue.

“Okay,” I agree. This is obviously a bad idea. Today I’m seemingly full of them.