Page 84 of Bedeviled

I raise my eyebrows. “I take no ownership of the Fortunas’ blood money.”

He gives me a look like he’s calling bullshit.

Which is fair, since I’ve definitely used Memnon’s own blood money. I’m using it right now, just by showering in his mansion.

“And yet you’ll enjoy it nonetheless,” he says.

Ugh, he has that imperious tone he sometimes gets when he forgets he’s no longer still a king.

“If I must,” I say.

“There are no longer armies and lands to defend,” Memnon says. “Your modern world has moved the battlefield to boardrooms and discreet dealings. But this world is still ours to rule and shape however we see fit. Help me shape it into something that pleases you.”

I consider his words as I begin the delicate task of washing my new tattoo. I am curious about the work Memnon does, now that he’s overthrown the Fortunas.

“Fine,” I concede. “Let’s see how my scary, all-powerful husband spends his days.”

I was expecting Memnon to take me to Equinox, the looming skyscraper where Leonard Fortuna ran his empire, yet I’m still amazed when we approach it. The towering structure was nearly leveled a couple weeks ago when the Hungering Ones cracked the building’s foundation, yet now it seems…functional? There aren’t even construction barricades around it—or crime scene tape for that matter. After all, dozens of supernaturals died very heinous, very unnatural deaths here recently.

I don’t know what sort of god-tier magic and influence it must’ve taken to repair the building and beat back the Politia, the supernatural police force, but I am fucking impressed by it.

It’s not just the outside of the skyscraper that’s returned to normal. When we enter the lobby, it looks clean, functional, beautiful yet perfectly boring, with its marble floors and leather-clad seating area. Definitely not like it sustained an intense attack by demons, supernatural traffickers, lycanthropes, and ancient gods that dwell in the earth.

There are a few people sitting behind the long reception counter. One of them, a man with striking red hair and freckles, seems to brighten when he sees Memnon.

“Good morning, Mr. Uvagukis.”

“Morning, Matt. And stop calling me that. It’s either ‘Memnon’ or ‘my king,’” Memnon says.

Matt laughs, like Memnon is being funny. “Right. I have your schedule here.”

The man comes around the counter and sidles up to Memnon, handing him a paper, presumably with the day’s agenda.

I’m content to be ignored.

Memnon is not.

“Matt, this is my wife, Selene,” Memnon says, the hand at my back pressing me forward.

I take a few steps and clear my throat. I’m wearing ripped, baggy jeans, a graphic tee layered over a thin, long-sleeved shirt, and scuffed-up combat boots. I feel painfully out of place.

“Uh, hi.” I reach out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Matt’s eyes widen as he clasps my palm in his. “Wonderful to meet you. I didn’t realize you were married,” he says to Memnon, even as he continues to take me in.

“It was a recent thing.” I lean forward a little. “Lots of blackmail involved.”

Matthew’s eyes go wide.

I give a placating smile. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” Really shitty water you’d never want to drink or swim in, but you know. It’s under the bridge.

He’s still staring at me with mild alarm as his hand slips from mine. I probably should’ve kept all those thoughts to myself. Oh well.

“She said she’d sell my nudes if I didn’t marry her,” Memnon says.

I suck in a sharp breath, then cough as I nearly choke on my own saliva.

How do you even know what nudes are?