The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 28

Cassandra’s insides froze when Tristan called her tiny thief, and she tried to jump out of the arms she’d been content to spend eternity in seconds ago.

But he anticipated her flight and tightened his grip. The hand around her neck was so large that his fingers and thumb were almost touching. His other hand clutched her ass beneath her nightgown, his fingertips tucked into the side of her lacy, rose-colored panties. To say anything other than ass felt juvenile after what they’d done, so she didn’t flinch at the word.

“Oh no,” he tsked. “You need to answer some questions before you flee from me tonight.”

Despite his calm voice, he looked as undone as she felt, her lips and neck stinging in the aftermath of his scandalous kisses. She’d never felt so wanted, as if he’d been memorizing her body with his skillful mouth and curious hands.

Tristan held her close, her hips pressing into the hard, impressive length behind his leather pants. She was using what little willpower she had left to stay still, not move against it. In her twenty-one years of life, she’d never wanted anything as badly as she wanted him inside of her. Any part—fingers, tongue, cock—she wasn’t picky.

“Do you promise not to run if I put you down?” he breathed.

She nodded, incapable of speech.

He squeezed her ass before reaching behind his back to unclasp her ankles. He was tall enough that her dangling feet didn’t reach the ground, so he placed his hands at her ribs to support her as she removed her fingers from his hair and from underneath his shirt.

His breath hitched as she grazed her palm across those V-shaped muscles, unable to help herself.

“None of that until we clear up a few things, tiny thief.”

Her feet hit the grass, a cool tickle between her toes as she backed away. She immediately missed his hands on her body, his strength and warmth beneath her. But the phrase on his lips brought her back to reality.

“Why are you calling me that?” she asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me that. The most interesting visions came into my head the moment you kissed me.”

His honey-brown eyes held unfading lust and a hint of amusement but no anger. His hair was adorably tousled, the ink-black strands luminous in the silvery moonlight.

“How much do you remember?”

“Just flashes here and there,” he began. “I can feel pain on my finger, my jaw, and my shin. Assuming you attacked me, you little she-devil.”

“You grabbed me first!”

“I can’t remember why, but I’m sure I was justified.”

“Debatable. What else?”

He closed his eyes, as if scanning the resurrected pieces of the lost memory. “I see a cloaked figure scaling an iron fence. I can see a necklace with a large blue diamond in the center. I can hear someone screaming and feel the wind rushing through my wings. Guessing you were the one doing the screaming.” He chuckled, then opened his eyes and stepped toward her.

“And I can see your face. The freckles dotting your nose and cheeks.” He mapped her freckles with his fingers.

“Your pouty, downturned lips scowling at me.” He dragged his thumb across her quivering lower lip.

“And blue-gray eyes stripping me bare, seeing me in a way that no stranger ever had before.” His eyes bore into hers as if seeking answers in their depths.

Cassandra had ceased to breathe. She had heard of such occurrences, snippets of an extracted memory lingering in a supplicant’s mind like a phantom limb after amputation. But only in cases where the supplicant and the memory’s subject shared a powerful connection.

Tristan continued, “And I can hear myself calling you tiny thief. You were adorably pissed off about it.” She glared up at him. “Yes! That’s the look.” He paused, considering. “How do we know each other, Cassandra?”

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding—the game was over. Time to come clean and hope he’d be as understanding as he’d been the first time.

“I lied about what I was doing at the Empress’s Lap the night Opheron ambushed me. I was there to pick up a payout from the Broker. On the night of the Vicereine’s Midsummer Ball, I stole a necklace from Alcander Pagonis’s wife. I’d seen it in her memories when she came to visit the Temple last week. I was planning to sell it through the Broker and give the drachas to Mistress Callas so she wouldn’t be forced to sell any more memories and risk obliviation. You caught me during the robbery that night at their estate.”

He waited for her to continue, no hint of a reaction—the consummate interrogator.

“You told me to pull your memory. You wanted to help me get away with it and spare yourself a difficult conversation with the Vicereine.”

His breathy chuckle rippled over her bare skin. “Sounds like something I’d do.”

“You’re not angry?”

“How could I be angry if I asked you to pull the memory? And I must have because you couldn’t have overpowered me and taken it.” She glowered at the insult, at his arrogance. “Though I am curious how a Shrouded Sister was so adept at breaking and entering?”

“It wasn’t my first job,” she said with a smarmy smile.

She wasn’t scared to admit to her past crimes for two reasons: one, he was taking her confession remarkably well, as well as he had the night they’d met, and two, Xenia had already pulled her memories of those previous crimes.

“I’ve saved dozens of families over the past three years. But don’t ask me for details because I’ve had those memories extracted.”

“Clever.” Tristan dipped his head, impressed. “The necklace adds some interesting new complications to our investigation though.”

“I know. Did Cael tell you what he and Xenia discovered in the library today? That blue diamond isn’t a diamond at all—it’s Thalassium.”

He nodded. “That’s how the traces of it ended up in that barrel. You’d left it there for the Broker.”

“Yes, and Opheron must’ve found it. I asked him what he’d done with it, and he said he’d returned it to his master. Surely he meant Pagonis?”

Tristan shook his head, a glaze of fear in his eyes for the first time all night. “He didn’t. Pagonis claims he doesn’t have the necklace. He’s asked the Vestians to search for it. And the criminal who stole it.”

She audibly swallowed. Tristan closed the gap between them, placing one hand at her waist and cupping her chin with the other. “I would never turn you in, Cassandra. I didn’t arrest you that night, and I certainly have no plans to do so now.”

“What about Cael?” she asked, trembling.

“I’ll deal with him.”

Her body loosened and lightened, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She’d suspected, deep in her heart, that she could trust Tristan. To have it confirmed was bliss. With that anxiety dispelled, her thoughts returned to the investigation.

“So, if Pagonis doesn’t have the necklace,” she asked, “who does? And why would Opheron dare to cross his vengeful boss like that? Do you think it’s connected to my Sisters’ disappearances? It can’t be a coincidence that someone is seeking the formula for Delirium and a necklace that just happens to contain a key ingredient is now missing. Opheron must be the connection between the two cases.”

“I guess we’ll replace out when we pull his memories tomorrow night, won’t we?” Tristan smirked, his certainty and flippancy calming her further. “I’ll alert the Vicereine as soon as possible that we have a potential lead on the necklace, ask her to call off the other Guards she has searching for it.” He moved his hand to her cheek, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone. “Is this why you wouldn’t tell me your name?”

“I thought telling you might trigger something, make you remember my crime.”

“Well, you certainly triggered something tonight.” He readjusted her pendant, which had shifted during their entanglement. He straightened the chain, then nestled the sphere in her cleavage, stroking his knuckles against the upper swells of her breasts.

She clasped her hands behind her back, restraining herself from leaping into his arms and continuing where they’d left off.

He speared his hand into her hair and tipped her face up. “Seems I’m completely incapable of forgetting you, Cassandra.”

He pressed his mouth against hers with a tenderness that stopped her heart. His lips were unbelievably soft, and his kiss tasted like forgiveness, light and teasing.

She could barely stand it.

“This loss of sanity doesn’t change anything, Tristan,” she said against his mouth. “You can’t make my chastity vow disappear with your magic hands and hips.”

He threw his head back in a rollicking laugh, and when she echoed it, he pulled her flush with his body again, then gripped her ass as he fisted her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck.

He whispered in her ear. “Maybe I can with these.”

He ran his tongue along the pulsing vein in her neck, then blew on the damp area, sending body-wracking shivers crashing through her. He trailed his lips over the newly sensitive spot, and her eyes rolled back as she let out a low moan. She was losing control of the situation.

Not that she had any to begin with.

“Tristan,” she begged, unsure of what she was begging for—an end or a beginning. He grazed a sharp canine along her throbbing pulse, and she moaned again. Then came to her senses. “Tristan, stop.”

He stepped back, removing his hands from her body, concern and remorse clouding his eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”

She pressed her fingertips to his lips, relishing the plush heat. “You don’t need to apologize. That felt…incredible. Too good. I’m afraid of what I’ll let you do if you keep going.”

He threw her a wicked grin as he zipped his jacket, wings rustling. “That reminds me of another question. How in the name of Stygios does a Shrouded Sister know how to kiss like that?”

She huffed a laugh as she pulled her hair over her shoulder. “Promise not to tell?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I am the soul of discretion, Daredevil.”

“I’ve been stealing dirty memories since I was a teenager. They’ve been eye-opening and very informative. I watch them often to practice my technique.” She winked and he roared with laughter.

“Shh!” She jumped up to cover his mouth, his warm breath tickling her palm. “You’re going to wake up the entire Cloisters! And Xenia is no doubt crouched under the window listening.”

He removed her hand from his mouth, keeping it in his grasp. “Who’s Xenia?”

Oops.

She sighed but didn’t pull her hand away. “Sister Cirillo. I guess there’s no reason you can’t know both our names.”

He stroked his thumb along the back of her hand, then placed her palm on his chest, his heart pounding beneath her fingers. She raised her head to meet his gaze, terrified of what she found.

Tristan was staring at her in a way no man or male ever had. With awe and…yearning. The same look her father had often given her mother.

A look soliciting destruction in a thousand different ways.

Especially for a human foolish enough to fall in love with a nearly immortal god who could have any female in Ethyrios. He was bound to grow tired of her snark, her anxieties, her stubbornness. Time to put the boundaries back in place.

She snatched her hand away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t think this was a terrible lapse in judgment.”

“I don’t think that. Not at all.”

She snorted. “Well, I do. This will never happen again. I won’t risk being kicked out of the order.”

He tried to wrap his arms around her. “I’d take you in.”

She stepped back and he halted, hurt darkening his handsome face. “Take me in where, the barracks?”

“The barracks are not my only home within Thalenn,” he answered with a furtive smile.

Cassandra shook her head. “There are people here who depend on me. Xenia and…others. This is bigger than what I want.”

He sighed, wings drooping. “I get it, I do. I’ve been there. But let me tell you something that took me a long time to learn the hard way.”

She caught a glimpse of that faded red scar on his palm.

“What you want matters,” he said. “You can’t stifle all your desires in service of others, or you’ll start to resent the people you’re trying to help. Most people, the good ones worth keeping around, want you to be happy too. So, you might as well do some of what you want.”

“What if what I want is to murder people or burn down a building?” she asked, gifting him a cheeky grin.

He pinched her chin, chuckling. “Smartass. You know what I mean.”

She exhaled. “I wish it were that easy.”

“It is. You’re just not ready to admit it. It’s fine, I can wait. At two hundred plus years old, I have a lot of patience. And based on that all-too-brief taste, I know you’ll be worth the wait.”

She grasped his hand in hers and squeezed—the only response she felt capable of at the moment. He squeezed back, an understanding.

“Are you done with your questions?” she asked.

“For now.”

“Good, I have one for you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t wait for this.”

She twisted a wavy strand of hair around her finger. “What’s my dagger’s name? You promised to tell me once I told you my name.”

He chuckled. “You didn’t tell me your name. Eugenia did. So I’m thinking I should make you guess.”

“Give me a hint?”

He chewed his lip, contemplating, and she wanted to put her own teeth back there. “You already know it’s a female name, which should count as a hint. But since you let me fondle your gorgeous ass tonight, I’m feeling generous and will give you another. Her name starts with K.”

“Kalliope.”

“No.”

“Kallista.”

“No.”

“Kristalena.”

Disgust crumpled his face. “Mighty Anaemos, no. She’s a dagger, not a rosy-cheeked schoolgirl. Her name is way more badass than that. Come back to me later with some real guesses.”

She huffed in mock frustration, pouting as she toyed with her hem. What had she been thinking, wearing this nightgown? The question turned her thoughts back to the reason he’d asked to meet with her in the first place.

“Tristan, are you sure you want to give all those drachas to the Callas family?”

“I’m sure. I can think of no better use for them.”

“This will mean the world to Mistress Callas. I don’t know how to begin to thank you.”

“That kiss was a pretty good start.” He winked.

But her worries were not so easily held at bay. “You can’t just give hundreds of thousands of drachas to every family on the brink. What are we going to do about the next one? The one after that? And the one after that?”

His face lit up. “We, huh? I like the way you’re thinking, Daredevil.”

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “You started it with the we.”

“You’re right, I did. Glad it rubbed off on you. We’re going to have to worry about that later though. The investigation needs to take precedence. We only have one week before Mother Polar Bear kicks you off the case.”

And even though she knew he was right, a lump hardened in her gut, ready to fester and tear her apart with worry about who the next Callas family would be—she hoped it wouldn’t render her useless.

“Okay,” she exhaled. “Did you make any other progress today?”

“Cael and I viewed the memories of your missing Sisters’ roommates with Sister Andino this morning.”

Cassandra cackled. “How’d that go, loverboy? She’s got the hots for you something fierce.”

“Says a woman who knows from experience.” His lopsided grin brought out his dimple as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was as awkward as you can imagine. Cael wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m shocked,” she deadpanned.

“She ran from the room in tears.”

The nasty side of Cassandra was delighted to hear it. She’d been harboring unkind feelings towards Sister Andino since Wednesday’s training session when the Sister had thrown Cassandra out of the ring to get to Tristan.

“Did you replace anything useful?” she asked.

He told her about the fuzziness they’d noticed. “Have you seen anything like that in an extracted memory before?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Could the extraction process have damaged the memory if it wasn’t performed correctly?”

“Glad to hear you have as much faith in Sister Andino’s abilities as I do. But no, I don’t think so. Even that half-damaged memory of Sister Kouris wasn’t fuzzy.”

“True. You and Xenia should probably take a look. Cael and I want to view them again during our precious allotted hour tomorrow.” He rolled his eyes, and she giggled.

“Sure, that’s fine. Can we do it in my extraction room? It’ll save me a trip from the library.”

“Great. The four of us can head there after breakfast. Then Cael and I are going to the Secretariat to see if we can replace any hint of the hallway with Sister Kouris’s cell.”

“I’m assuming that means Cael had no luck locating that pleasure house?”

“He did locate it, actually,” Tristan answered, and Cassandra gasped. “Don’t get too excited though. The courtesan from the memory wasn’t there. And her colleagues refused to reveal her name or address to a Vestian Guard. He was able to replace out that she’ll be working again on Saturday though, so our visit will have to wait until then.”

“Which pleasure house is it?”

“Because you’re so familiar with all their names? Naughty Sister.” He poked his tongue out, licking the tip of his canine.

“You’d be shocked by the memories I keep in my personal stash, Birdman.” She cocked her head.

“Try me.” He stepped closer, towering over her, the heat of his body threatening to burn through all of her defenses.

She should’ve known better than to challenge him. “I—” she stammered.

He bent forward, laughing merrily as he touched his forehead to her shoulder. The gesture was so casually intimate that her heart skipped a beat.

“You are far too easy to tease, Daredevil. It’s honestly my new favorite pastime. But it’s late, so I should stop indulging myself tonight. Don’t forget about our meeting with Opheron tomorrow. I’ll be back from the Secretariat after dinner to pick you up. Be ready to fly by seven. We can go visit Mistress Callas first, then head to the Empress’s Lap. Wear something incognito.” He ran a hand through his hair, popping his biceps.

She wanted his arms around her again. Desperately. Which was as good a cue as any to say goodnight before she made any more reckless decisions.

“Tomorrow’s going to be busy,” she yawned. “I’d better get some sleep.”

He grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “I meant what I said, Cassandra. If you ever leave the order or replace yourself with nowhere to go, you’d have a place with me. For as long as you need it. And this has nothing to do with breaking your chastity vow. The offer stands, no matter the circumstances.”

Her chest constricted. “You barely know me. Why would you offer such a thing?”

Traces of rage and sorrow flowed across his masculine features. “Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped and have nowhere to go—to live a life without the freedom of choice. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all you.”

She stepped toward him, placing a hand on his cheek, and his expression softened. “Thank you, Tristan.”

He covered her hand with his own, then pressed a kiss into her palm. “Goodnight, Cassandra.”

She gave him a shy smile. “You can call me Cass—all my friends do. Well, I’ve only got the one friend.” She laughed as she pulled her hand away.

He seemed reluctant to let go. “You’ve got at least two now.”

“Goodnight, Tristan.”

She walked towards her window, pushed it open, and attempted to climb inside, difficult without the traction from her shoes. She struggled to haul herself over the sill, giving him quite the show as her robe and nightgown hitched up.

A gust of wind tickled her bare legs, and he appeared behind her, grabbing her hips and helping her through the window.

She leaned out to thank him, and he cupped the back of her neck, pulling her toward him.

“Hot panties, Cass,” he breathed, sucking and nipping at her earlobe.

He left her staring into the empty night, dumbfounded and fully aroused again. She clamped her thighs together to will away the ache, then turned into the room, anticipating the third degree from Xenia.

But her friend wasn’t in her bed, nor was she in the bathing chamber. Cassandra’s throat closed up in panic. And despite what she was wearing, she threw open the exterior door, ready to dash into the night in search of Xenia.

Tinkling laughter halted her. Peering out of the half-closed door, she spied Xenia and Cael deep in conversation at the fountain, their heads nearly touching and an open book sprawled across their laps.

Cassandra sighed with short-lived relief, just as concerned for Xenia as she was for herself.

These two Windrider males were turning their world upside down.

Cassandra wasn’t yet sure if that was a bad thing.