Page 77 of Bedeviled

“Again,” he says, slipping into Sarmatian, “as you have so eloquently stated, I’m a conqueror, not an artist.”

Already I’m taking off my shirt. Memnon’s eyes heat as my skin is revealed to him, his gaze darkening when his attention drops to the flesh just above my heart.

“I trust you.”

He gives me a look, like he knows I’ve weaponized those words.

“And, if you do this for me, I will do something for you.”

Memnon pauses, and oh, I think I’ve caught him. “What is that?” he says.

“Whatever you please.”

I don’t think Memnon breathes. Then, like a spell being broken, he shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t hand me an offer like that. You have no idea what my demands will be—and you will get a shitty tattoo out of it.”

An apprehensive thrill rushes through me. I think I have him. “Name your price.”

Memnon steps in close and hooks a finger around the amulet hanging from my necklace. “Anything?” he says again, sliding the crude ceramic moon face back and forth along its ribbon. He fists the amulet then, as though he might rip the thing off.

Ah.

Memnon wants my fertility back.

I swallow.

He laughs, his eyes devilish. “That’s what I thought.” Memnon drops the necklace, and I relax, even as a part of me deflates. “Don’t offer deals you cannot stomach.”

“What makes you think I cannot stomach it?”

Again, I seem to catch my husband by surprise.

“You want my mark that badly?”

His mark.

“My tattoo,” I correct.

“Our tattoo,” he amends.

I breathe deeply in and out of my nose, debating, debating. If I agree to this, I could get pregnant.

My core clenches at the thought of it, and my throat tightens. There’s old loss there—old loss and longing—that I’ve shoved away. It’s loud in my ears now though.

I sense him listening to my thoughts greedily.

My heart is in my throat. I guess now is the time to start getting better at BJs. And anal. And buying condoms.

One of Memnon’s brows rise, and an amused smile is curling his lips as he listens in on my own internal struggle.

Why am I not outright rejecting this joke of a deal?

I open my mouth to tell him no.

Instead, what comes out is “Don’t you want to get to know your new wife better before we discuss kids?”

But Memnon is marveling at me. “You’re seriously considering this.” His gaze drops to my chest, to that pale expanse of skin over my heart, and now I can see how seriously he is contemplating the proposition.

I hadn’t considered the possibility that Memnon might truly want kids this badly. But he looks…newly determined.