Page 171 of Bedeviled

Demons. Ones that have been ripped apart.

Amongst the carnage I catch a gleam in the grass. It’s too far away for me to be sure, but it looks like a dagger. Like my soul mate’s dagger. My breath catches.

Was Memnon out there? Amongst them? Is he out there still?

Is he…alive?

Desperately, I reach down our bond, but like always now, I hit a wall.

He could be dead; he could be alive. Then I remember his voice from my dream, shouting my name, followed by that pain against my sternum. How abruptly it ended.

My heart is in my throat and my eyes sting.

Could that be because he⁠—?

No, he cannot be dead. I refuse to believe so. I would know if he were gone.

I would know.

I’m still taking it all in when I hear rapping on the windows downstairs. Nero begins to growl.

Fuck.

This is Panticapaeum all over again.

I peer outside, looking for the sheen of Memnon’s wards. I don’t see them, and when I close my eyes and focus on the magical barriers that encase this house…there is nothing.

Quickly, I grab my phone from my bedside table, then cross the room to my closet. Once I’m in there, I dress quickly, pulling on a bra and a shirt, underwear, pants, socks, and shit-kicking boots.

Downstairs, the rapping at the window turns into pounding. Whoever—or whatever—is outside, it is drawing this out for my benefit.

I tuck my phone into my back pocket and return my attention to the shelves of the shared closet. On one of them lies a slew of blades. Among them are the pair Memnon gifted me after our wedding.

I grab them now and belt them on. On the other side of the house, glass shatters.

Devil’s dick.

I’ve just about run out of time.

My pulse is in my throat as my eyes move to Nero. He’s already near the door, guarding it, his hackles raised. Beyond him, I can see the shimmering ward coating the threshold to our room.

It will hold, but only for so long. I cannot stay in this room and hope whoever’s coming will give up.

Resolve washes over me. I move to Nero and place a hand on his body. “Impenetrable armor for your body,” I incant in Sarmatian, my expression grim.

Placing a hand on my stomach, I repeat the spell, my attention lingering on the slight iridescent sheen my orange magic has as it spreads out over our forms.

Downstairs, I hear a low cackle that raises my gooseflesh. “Come out, come out, little witch.”

“Hide our forms from all eyes and ears. Make us invisible to all but each other.”

Again my magic slides over me and Nero, and though I can still hear and see my panther perfectly well, I have to believe that no one else can.

I kneel next to him and peer into my familiar’s eyes. “We’re under attack,” I say solemnly. “I’m going to get us out of here. Stay close and follow me.” I stand. “Oh.” My voice hardens. “And kill anyone you encounter that’s not Memnon,” I command.

My hands brush the hilts of my blades. Taking a deep breath, I leave the bedroom and head down the dark hall, Nero shadowing my movements.

It’s painfully hard to see, and as I strain my ears, I can hear growls and soft murmurs and more unsettling calls.