Page 80 of Bedeviled

Memnon brings the bone needle back to my skin.

This time I do hiss in a breath when it pierces my flesh, and I see Memnon’s shoulders tense before he visibly relaxes them.

He removes the needle, and blood oozes from the small wound, but before it can slide down my flesh, Memnon’s magic is there, cleaning the wound.

“You’re doing so well, est amage,” he breathes.

I exhale a shaky breath, trying not to preen under his praise.

Again and again, Memnon repeats the steps of heating the needle, dipping it into pigment, then pressing it into my skin, his motions methodical. It falls into a hazy sort of rhythm, one only enhanced by the cannabis smoke and my long swallows of wine. Nero rests nearby, his tail twitching, his watchful eyes on me.

In and out the needle works, the lines of my tattoo slowly filling in. Memnon has steady, deft hands, and I find his earlier protests amusing, considering how he now tattoos me with the confidence of a man who has spent his life doing it.

The moon and stars have arced their way across the night sky before Memnon finally leans back on his haunches.

“It’s finished.”

My mind has long since drifted away on a cloud made of wine and scented smoke, but at his words, my consciousness sharpens and my stomach twists in both excitement and apprehension. Despite all my confidence in Memnon, I truly have no idea what to expect.

And as he pulls me up to my feet, his expression doesn’t give anything away.

“Let me show you what it looks like,” he says, tugging me out of the room and to one of the bathrooms.

When the lights flick on, I squint against the harsh brightness. Once my eyes adjust, they move to the inked dragon on my chest.

I suck in a breath, lifting my fingers to the tattoo. I stop short of touching it.

“It’s just as I remember,” I breathe.

Behind me, Memnon’s jaw clenches with emotion.

I lean in closer to peer at it. “You got all of the details.”

“I’ll probably have to go back in and do touch-ups,” he insists, like he cannot quite stomach the praise.

But I’m hardly listening. My eyes prick, and again I try to touch the tattoo before holding myself back. It feels like uncovering my memories all over again, like a part of me has been restored.

I turn around and wrap my arms around Memnon’s neck. “I want you to do the others.” The panther and the slain deer. I want them back on my upper arm.

Memnon groans, but when his lips find mine, he’s smiling against me, and across our connection I feel the rush of something soft and nostalgic. Like maybe this meant as much to him as it did to me.

Our mouths move against each other, the kiss growing hungrier with each pass of our lips. Memnon pulls away and softly grips my throat.

The sorcerer angles my face up to his. “I hope it was worth it,” he breathes, “because it’s time to pay up.”

I don’t even have a chance to react before his magic unfurls out of him, dancing along the skin below my waist. Everywhere it touches, my outfit peels off me. My pants finally fall in a heap around my feet, my sheathed daggers clattering as they hit the ground.

Memnon’s own clothes face a similar fate. Before my eyes, I see his shirt and pants melt off his body. By the time they hit the floor, I’m already naked.

My stomach twists in anticipation.

Memnon hovers a hand over my fresh tattoo. “Keep clean and protect,” he incants in Sarmatian.

A small plume of his indigo magic spreads out over my inked skin, then sinks in.

Once the indigo wisps fade away, things happen rapidly.

His magic flares out, curling around my nipples and between my legs, stroking and tugging and making me ache and ache, twisting my senses.