Page 184 of Bedeviled

That thick, honeyed magic seeps from my hand and into my flesh. My jaw clenches, and I scream through my teeth as my injuries begin to shift as they heal.

…Empress…

The Hungering Ones still whisper for my attention, but they go utterly ignored as my eyesight clouds, and I fight to stay conscious. Their voices die away altogether as slowly, slowly, my body repairs itself, the skin heating and itching as it reforms. My limbs are shaking so badly I’m sure I’m going to break the connection my hand has on my skin.

The bulk of the spell works on my stomach wound, which must be the more dire injury. Blessedly, the pain begins to ease.

A wave of deep blue magic fills the forest then, and though my heart pounds a little harder as nerves knot up my stomach, I cannot help the relief I feel at the soft caress of Memnon’s power as it brushes against my skin.

The thick plumes of magic clear, and there he is.

Memnon’s eyes land on me, sprawled out on the ground. I don’t know what he sees in the darkness, but it cannot look good. My clothes are torn and soaked through with blood. I can feel the gaping wound at my shoulder. And even partially healed, I am too weak to get up.

For an instant, Memnon’s power seems to violently overtake him. His eyes illuminate, and his hair billows in that unseen breeze. Just as quickly, it dies away, leaving him quaking.

You found me, I say.

I see his form shudder at my words and a gasping, despondent sound rips from his lungs. His eyes linger on my wounds, and angels have never lamented the way his expression now seems to.

“You were supposed to run,” he whispers, holding himself back from me. “And to heal yourself. You will—” His voice cuts off before continuing.

I try to shrug, but the action enflames my right side. I gasp in pain, an action that has him taking a step forward before he halts himself.

I’m about to tell him that I was healing myself, that I simply hadn’t finished, but I’m distracted by his presence right now and the rising tension in the air.

I can sense that the sorcerer’s power is still a swirling maelstrom within him. If anything, it seems to grow the longer he takes me in.

“Memnon.”

Now his knees bend, almost as though they’re about to give out. Instead, he staggers toward me.

“Selene.” He says my name like a sob, his voice deep and guttural with his power and grief.

Then his legs do give out, and Memnon falls to his knees at my side. He reaches for me, then stops, his hands poised in midair. My breathing is shallow and ragged.

I stare at him like a deer sighted by a wolf. I have not missed his strange behavior, nor his strange, halted speech. Nor can I forget the pain in my chest that woke me earlier.

My own grief rises up to match his.

“Est xsaya, est xsaya,” My king, my king, “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. While I slept, something terrible happened to him, something undoubtably worse than being ambushed by demons.

He gives a fierce shake of his head, pinching his eyes shut. “You…will not…apologize.” He bites the words out like he’s testing out if he can say them.

His throat works, and his hands still hover when his power begins to pour out of him once more, roiling and twisting as it coats the forest around us. An orb forms high above our heads, then another and another, illuminating this section of the forest in the most vivid shades of blue.

But though his power envelops us, it doesn’t sink into me.

“Heal yourself,” he commands again, keeping his own hands away from me, like he cannot bear to help me.

Or he’s forbidden from doing so.

I swallow, then nod. Slowly, I bring my hand to my shoulder.

“Vakahi,” I incant.

The two of us stare at each other as my power pours from my palm. I bite my lower lip and muffle a cry as the bullet wound at my shoulder tugs on itself.

A muscle in Memnon’s jaw keeps jumping as he clenches and unclenches it, watching me intently, and his eyes keep flickering, now illuminated, now dim. His monstrous magic is attempting again and again to break free. And it keeps failing.