The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 23

Tristan had to remind himself to stay professional and refrain from stroking his thumb along Sister Fortin’s silky, delicate skin.

He couldn’t help it when he’d touched her, heard her heart rate pick up. But they were in public, in the presence of Cael and Sister Cirillo. Not to mention, she’d said she only wanted to be friends.

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She said she couldn’t be anything but friends. He sensed she was fighting it. But if she broke her chastity vow, it had to be her decision. He would never force or guilt her into it. He wondered if she’d bend it a little for him, and his cock stirred at the thought.

Sweet Amatu, those skin-tight leggings she’d worn to training had taken his breath away.

When she exposed her bare stomach, he was overcome with such a desperate urge to put his mouth there, to taste her skin, to lick and nibble until she was begging him to move his tongue lower.

He’d been distracted for the rest of the session. Couldn’t stop seeking her out and could barely concentrate enough to finish exercises he’d been doing for over two centuries.

He hoped to be spared the sight of her body, but she wasn’t any less tempting in her dress robes, even covered head to toe. The midnight blue fabric clung to her curves and that endless row of buttons mocked him. He couldn’t stop picturing what was underneath, not after her comment this morning.

But Tristan’s fascination went deeper than an overwhelming physical attraction. She was fearless and fierce and…cheeky. Not at all what he would’ve expected from a Shrouded Sister. As much as he wanted to explore beneath her robes, he found himself wondering what kind of life she’d lived, who she thought she’d be before she joined the order. And then there was that niggling familiarity…

Tristan shook his head, attempting to clear his lust-addled mind and concentrate on the complicated case unfolding before them. Based on what Sister Fortin and Sister Cirillo had just shared, there were many knots to untangle before they had any hope of replaceing their Sisters.

Sister Fortin began a soft chant, words he didn’t understand but which jostled something loose in his mind. Phantom fingers brushed his temple and a night’s gentle breeze stirred his hair.

Sister Fortin nodded to Sister Cirillo, who was holding a half-filled, glowing glass vial. Sister Cirillo popped off the cork and pressed the opening against Sister Fortin’s tattoo.

Her muscles stiffened under his hand and his eyes slammed shut as his body was overcome with a free-falling sensation. Sharp pinpricks of light flooded his vision, stinging his eyes, and a rushing, pounding beat filled his ears, as if he were underwater. The pounding intensified and just when it felt like his brain was going to burst through his skull, his eyes opened to a long black marble corridor. Well, not his eyes. He could tell the difference. He was looking through the eyes of the person who’d made this memory.

After several minutes of walking, walking, walking down that corridor, the memory faded. The library walls reappeared, and Tristan’s chair solidified into a reassuring presence beneath him. He and Cael removed their hands from Sister Fortin’s forearms.

“Who was that?” Tristan asked, glancing down at her.

“A young man who came to visit the Temple on Monday. I saw Sister Kouris at the end of that memory. I was so shocked that I dropped the vial, and the other half spilled out. She’s being kept in a cell at the end of that hallway. She looked unharmed, so far. The tray of food he was carrying was for her. There’s a fingerprint-powered lock on the door and a light in the cell, so the building must be Fae-controlled. Sister Kouris knocked him over when he stepped inside and said, ‘Tell him I don’t have it.’”

“Tell who she doesn’t have what?” Cael asked.

“I don’t know,” Sister Fortin said with a dejected frown. “Maybe the formula?”

Cael cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “How do we know you’re telling the truth about the destroyed half of the memory?”

“What’s the matter, Officer Zephyrus? Worried that I’m leading you towards certain death?”

Tristan choked back a laugh. High Gods, this woman. He flicked Cael with his wing. “Hey, quit being an asshole. What reason would she have to lie about it?” Sister Cirillo glanced towards him with a grateful smile on her lovely face.

Cael raised his palms. “I had to ask.”

“Do either of you recognize that hallway?” Sister Fortin asked.

Tristan shook his head, while Cael rubbed his jaw. “I don’t,” Tristan said. “But as you said, it doesn’t seem like a mortal building. And the only buildings in the colonies large enough to have a hallway that long are the Secretariat or the Vicereine’s Palace.”

“Why would the Vicereine assign us this case if she were the mastermind behind it?” Cael asked.

“Good point,” Tristan acceded. “And you and I have been all over that palace. Have you ever seen black marble like that anywhere?”

“No,” Cael said. “I haven’t seen those materials in the Secretariat either though.”

Tristan tried not to get distracted as Sister Fortin, deep in thought, ran her index finger along her supple bottom lip.

Visions of her pillowy soft lips on his fingers, his chest, his cock, flooded his mind, the soundtrack provided by that breathy moan he’d wrung from her earlier against the wall.

He adjusted himself before she could spy the evidence of his arousal. Thank the High Gods mortals couldn’t scent Fae emotions.

Though Cael shot him a questioning look, then snickered when he noted Tristan’s hand in his lap.

And bless him, Cael asked another question, causing Sister Fortin to turn away and give Tristan time to compose himself. “Why would the young man sacrifice that memory? He must’ve known the prisoner was a Shrouded Sister. Could it be a trap?”

“He didn’t notice her tattoo,” Sister Fortin said, her smoky blue eyes sliding back towards Tristan, who’d set himself to rights. She was so beautiful that he could barely stand to look at her. “He was only delivering food, so he can’t be high up enough to understand the full operation. Plus, he was terrified when Sister Kouris lunged for him. It seemed like a memory he was keen to forget. In fact, I’m pretty sure a desire to forget is why he sacrificed this other memory.”

Sister Cirillo audibly swallowed, her deep green eyes wide, lips so tight they were turning white. Her pulse quickened, and the glass vial in her shaking hands rattled against the table. The tangy scent of her panic drifted towards them, and Cael’s nostrils flared. He’d scented it too, and Tristan braced himself for whatever sharp-tongued comment his friend was about to hurl at her.

To Tristan’s surprise, Cael reached across the table to place a calming hand upon the Sister’s trembling ones. “It’s alright,” Cael said. “There is nothing this memory can show us that we haven’t seen before.”

“Okay.” Sister Cirillo inhaled, her hands steadying as Cael squeezed them. “It’s…it’s inappropriate. And not the kind of thing that a Sister should be watching with a male of either species.” She laughed, pulling her hands from Cael’s. “But I don’t know why I’m being so silly! I’m not the one showing you.”

“Come on,” Sister Fortin said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tristan and Cael gripped her bare forearms once again as she said the words, and Sister Cirillo uncorked the vial, jamming it against her friend’s tattoo.

The dizzying vertigo, pinpricks of light, and that painful pounding noise overtook Tristan once more. But the discomfort was replaced by an intense rush of blood directly to his groin as he opened his eyes and viewed the young man’s memory.

The courtesan was pretty, if not as attractive as the two Sisters. But there was something terribly off-putting about the noises she was making.

Tristan prided himself on knowing when a female of either species was faking it—something he absolutely would not stand for. He’d sooner sacrifice his own release to ensure his partner was thoroughly satisfied. As many times and in as many positions as possible.

Still, he couldn’t stop the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed down his spine as the young man spilled himself into the brunette.

Once again, the edges of the memory blurred, allowing snippets of the library to show through as Sister Cirillo removed and recorked the vial.

Tristan, Cael, and Sister Fortin were all breathing raggedly. Tristan and Cael glanced at their laps, shocked to see no visible effects from the raunchy memory. Angling his head, Tristan found Sister Fortin staring at him, eyes hooded and lips parted, her chest rising and falling erratically. It took two centuries worth of willpower to remove his hand from her arm, break their connection.

Cael shook his head like a dog, trying to dislodge the imagery, then smirked at Tristan over Sister Fortin’s head. “Bet you twenty drachas he’s that courtesan’s new favorite client.”

Tristan snorted a laugh, and Sister Fortin whacked him on the arm.

“Do not mock her,” Sister Fortin snarled. “You have no idea what it’s like to be a struggling woman within these colonies, the difficult choices and sacrifices that must be made.”

Tristan opened his mouth to apologize, but Sister Cirillo cut him off. “If we can locate the pleasure house and talk to that courtesan, she may be able to lead us to the young man. And then he can tell us where that hallway is. I’m assuming you two weren’t too distracted to notice the red brick bell tower in the window?”

“Please,” Cael scoffed. “It would take a much dirtier scene than that to distract me. Of course, I noticed. I think I know where that is, too.”

Sister Cirillo turned bright red and dropped her gaze to her lap, wringing her hands.

“Well?” Sister Fortin asked, voice drenched in sarcasm. “Don’t leave us in suspense, Officer Zephyrus. I assume you’re a regular at that pleasure house?”

Cael lowered his face to Sister Fortin’s, their noses touching. “I don’t need to pay for something that’s freely offered whenever I desire.”

Tristan fought the urge to leap from his chair and pummel his friend to the ground.

Sister Fortin didn’t concede an inch. “Doing it yourself doesn’t count.”

Tristan burst into raucous laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. Sister Cirillo covered her mouth, politely hiding her giggling. Cael’s jaw quivered as he attempted to suppress his own mirth and maintain a modicum of his dignity.

Once the merriment subsided, Cael crossed his arms over his chair and addressed the group. “I was talking about the bell tower. That’s the Church of the Forgotten in the east end, where mortals honor Nemosyna the Chronicler, Goddess of Memory and ancient rival of Letha. Before they come here to the Temple, your supplicants often visit that chapel to seek Nemosyna’s protection from obliviation. I’ll go scan the neighborhood this afternoon, see what pleasure houses are in the area. I—”

The booming gong of the Temple bell silenced Cael, and Sister Cirillo jumped from her seat, eager to end the conversation. “Nine o’clock! Our shifts are about to start.” She rounded the table and grabbed Sister Fortin’s hand, yanking her friend from her chair. Sister Fortin seemed a bit more reluctant to leave. Tristan tried not to read too much into why.

“Good time to call it quits for now anyway,” Tristan said. “That was a lot to take in. Cael and I will determine which trail to follow first. Let us walk you over to the Temple.”

“We can walk ourselves back, Officer Saros,” Sister Cirillo said, dragging Sister Fortin away from the table. “Thank you.”

“Have a good afternoon, Officers,” Sister Fortin called out over her shoulder as her friend hurried her from the hall.

Tristan kept his gaze on Sister Fortin until she disappeared down the aisle.

Cael pocketed the vials for safekeeping, official evidence and such, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, stud, let’s fly downtown. We’ve got a body to clean up. On the way, we can discuss how to maintain a professional demeanor when you’re aching to bone your partner.”

“You’re the expert,” Tristan winked, then followed his friend out of the library, catching traces of Sister Fortin’s intoxicating, honey and rosewood scent all the way down the aisle.

As soon as they stepped into the dazzling sunshine, Cael cast a blast of air and shot into the clear blue sky, his gray wings thundering.

Tristan searched the path for Sister Fortin, but the two Sisters were nowhere in sight.

Tristan cast his own gust of air and followed his friend into the sky. His black wings absorbed the sun’s heat, sending a pleasurable shiver down his spine after the library’s cool, dry air.

This assignment was starting to feel less and less like a punishment after all.