The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 2

Officer Tristan Saros was bored out of his fucking mind.

Perched on a branch in the sizable oak tree across from the Pagonis manor in Heronswood, his long legs dangling and his iridescent black wings tucked against his back, he silently cursed this shit assignment. Even though he knew it was his own fault.

Several days ago, Vicereine Lykan had strutted into the barracks yard, interrupting the Vestian Guards during training. The echo of clashed daggers and the whine of stun pistols reverberated into the abrupt silence as all twenty-seven of Tristan’s brothers- and sisters-in-arms paused their sparring.

“At ease, Officers,” the Vicereine shouted, flaring her golden wings in a show of dominance. She displayed not a hint of intimidation despite the winged killing machines surrounding her.

All of the highest-ranking Imperial officials, including the Vestian Guards, were Windriders, descendants of Anaemos the Father, High God of Spirit and Sky. Windriders were the only sub-species of Fae to possess elemental magic. They were also the only sub-species with wings—mostly feathered, though a few breeds did sport membranous ones.

“I’m looking for volunteers to patrol the streets of Heronswood this Thursday during my annual Midsummer Ball,” Lykan addressed the gathered crowd. “Any takers?”

The Vicereine loved to play this game. She didn’t need to seek volunteers. By virtue of her position as the Emperor’s representative, she held sway over all the colonies’ legions and could have merely ordered the Guards to do her bidding. Instead, she let them pretend they had a choice before commanding them to do whatever she wanted in the first place. A blatant power play that never failed to irk Tristan.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he approached the Vicereine while his fellow cowards-in-arms kept mum.

“Given the uptick in illegal emotion feedings on humans downtown, don’t you think we’d be better served increasing our presence there?” Tristan towered over the female, did not sheath his dagger, a casually disrespectful stance. “Heronswood will be empty since all the rich mortals will be at your palace that night. I can’t imagine there’ll be much to patrol.”

Tristan often struggled to keep his mouth shut in the face of authority. It had cost him over his two centuries in the colonies.

The Vicereine wasn’t cowed in the slightest. Her ice-blond hair glistened like the razor-sharp edge of a cut diamond as she dragged her eyes down his body. A different but no less powerful show of dominance. “Well, Officer Saros, I do believe you’re right. And here I was hoping to gain ten volunteers for the task when it seems like just one will do.”

Tristan sheathed his dagger, drew himself to attention by tucking his wings, and schooled his features into a blank expression. He stifled the groan that threatened to get him into even more trouble with the haughty Fae female. He should’ve known better than to appeal on behalf of the city’s mortals, whom the Vicereine respected only as far as the Accords forced her.

The Vicereine turned, whipping Tristan in the face with her shimmering gold wings, and barked her orders to the rest of the Vestians: “I expect you all at the palace, armed and in your dress uniforms, no later than one o’clock on Midsummer’s Day.”

Her pale blue eyes sparkled as she swiveled back to Tristan. A spider poised to strike at the fly in its trap.

“Saros, you’ve earned yourself overnight duty in Heronswood.” She sauntered up to him, placing her cool hand against his cheek. “I do hope the night will be as uneventful as you suggest. If I hear of any trouble, if even so much as a house cat goes missing, I’ll station you in the sewers for a month.” She ran her thumb across his lips, then gave him a not-so-gentle slap, both gestures meant to remind him of her ownership.

“Yes, Your Excellence,” Tristan had grumbled. He knew better than to push. The Vicereine would make good on that threat, or worse, if she felt her power being challenged.

And so he found himself tonight sitting in a tree like a fucking oversized raven, counting down the hours until dawn when he could fly back to the barracks and his bed.

At least there was a pleasant breeze tonight, a welcome respite from the stifling heat of a typical summer day in the colonies. It rustled through the treetop, ruffled his feathers, and tugged at his few loose strands of black hair.

He didn’t regret missing the Midsummer Ball, had been to plenty of gatherings at the Vicereine’s palace. Had seen enough ass-kissing mortal gentlemen, broken up enough drunken brawls, been propositioned by enough preening trophy wives—and a few of their husbands—to predict exactly what kinds of tales his fellow Guards would recount tomorrow.

But at least he wouldn’t have been so damned bored.

“Fuck this,” he grumbled. He braced his hands on the branch, about to take flight and seek out some real action downtown, when he noticed a lone, black-clad figure creeping up the street.

The figure darted from tree to tree, pausing behind each and making its way toward the very oak Tristan occupied.

Fear of invoking the Vicereine’s threat, which he’d been ready to risk a moment ago, kept Tristan from launching skyward.

And alright, he could admit he was a little curious. The figure was so small, he assumed it had to be a child. A young boy if Tristan had to guess.

What would a child be doing alone in Heronswood tonight?

Tristan folded his wings into a cocoon around his body, then shook them, shifting his iridescent feathers to mimic his surroundings.

Tristan was a Ghostwalker, a rare breed of Windrider who could hide in plain sight thanks to wings lined with camouflaging feathers. If the boy happened to look up, he would see nothing but an empty treetop.

Peering through a crack in his wings, Tristan watched as the boy stopped beneath the tree, then turned to face the manor.

The boy’s gaze fixed on the white brick building for what seemed like an eternity. Surely the boy didn’t intend to burgle the Pagonis family, the most well-connected humans in the colonies, did he?

Leaning against the trunk, the boy huffed a breath, and Tristan bent forward to catch a glimpse of his face. A twig snapped as Tristan shifted, and he held his breath as the boy’s gaze shot upward, his face concealed beneath a hood. Damn.

The boy’s scent drifted up, an aftereffect of the sudden movement. Human. And female? Interesting.

The girl noticed nothing amiss in the treetop and glanced back toward the manor. She muttered something so quietly that Tristan couldn’t decipher it, even with his supernatural hearing. The girl pushed off the tree and strode toward the property.

Tristan watched, impressed, as the girl scaled the fence, then paused at the top before dropping onto the sloping lawn.

“What are you playing at?” Tristan murmured.

The girl slid behind the hedges framing the portico, then shot into the space between the left column and the wall, legs splayed as she climbed toward the balcony.

Tristan’s lips curled in amusement as the girl dragged herself over the railing and approached the window. Agile, for a mortal. And performing such feats with the nervous, crackling energy he’d scented on her was doubly impressive.

The girl managed to open the window without breaking it. Had Pagonis really left it unlocked? So careless.

Tristan’s breath caught as he gawked at what was most assuredly not a young girl’s ass wiggling atop the sill. The appealing swell signaled a maturity at odds with the woman’s small stature.

Now Tristan was truly intrigued.

The woman squeezed inside, and Tristan waited a few moments before unfurling his wings and shooting from his perch with a few powerful flaps. Summoning the wind to cast an updraft, he glided silently across the manicured lawn and landed on the balcony. Through the window, he glimpsed the woman exiting the room into a darkened corridor.

Tristan had a decision to make.

Should he barge in and apprehend the woman before she committed her crime? Should he hover at another window, hoping she’d notice him and flee in terror?

No, he was too curious about her intentions to pursue either course of action. Better to wait, ambush her, and see what answers he could shake loose with his masterful interrogation skills.

With his towering height and massive muscles—not to mention the colossal black wings—he was a monster many humans feared.

This tiny woman would be cowering in no time.

Tristan leapt off the balcony, crawled beneath the portico, and tucked in his wings.

And waited in the shadows for his prey to appear.