The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 31

The rushing wind whipped Cassandra’s hood back, and she leaned her head against Tristan’s shoulder, her ears filled with the rustling snap of his wings as they flew toward downtown Thalenn.

She tried not to dwell on all he’d just shared: the sad conversation with Grigori Pacha, and the lack of evidence that Sister Kouris was being held in the Secretariat. Tristan and Cael’s afternoon search had proved fruitless; they’d found no sign of that long black hallway.

She didn’t want to think about it now; she needed to focus on the task ahead. Being in Tristan’s arms again certainly helped distract her, even if the contact was far more chaste than the last time she’d been there.

They landed on the wide avenue that ringed Dienses Square, cypress trees proudly standing at attention along the smooth expanse. Twilight crept upon the bustling district as flames danced in the streetlamps and magically powered Fae signs whirred to life.

Humans queued alongside the avenue, some begging passersby for a spare dracha, others waiting to catch rides into town with approaching Beastrunners. All manner of bi-forms—horse, camel, elephant, and more—offered their backs for a small fee. They were mostly exiles who’d fled the continent, seeking opportunities in the colonies—victims of the Empire’s callous rule and rigid hierarchies as much as the humans were.

Tristan insisted they walk from the avenue to the Empress’s Lap—he didn’t want to risk scaring Opheron away prematurely if the Deathstalker were to spot them in the skies.

The crowd thickened as they approached the city center, though everyone gave Tristan a wide berth. Cassandra wondered if they looked like a suspicious pair—the towering Vestian and his young mortal assistant. Dressed for the ruse, Cassandra wore her black training attire underneath Xenia’s much longer cloak. She’d braided and pinned her hair into a coronet—easier to hide underneath the hood. The ten empty vials in her satchel awaited Opheron’s extracted memories.

It was easy to remain inconspicuous on Fridays in Dienses Square, as the crowd was preoccupied with their own end-of-week revelry. Not a soul spared them a second glance as laughter, spirited conversation, and tempting aromas drifted from the open-air cafés, bars, and food stalls that lined their route.

They’d come from the slums; Tristan had kept his promise to visit Mistress Callas first. In a typical show of chivalry, he’d insisted that Cassandra deliver the gift alone.

When she handed over the envelope with shaking hands, Mistress Callas fell to her knees, bursting into body-wracking sobs. Baby Gwendolyn and Benjamin echoed her, their fledgling emotions still so attuned to their mother’s. Lukas rushed over to defend her, shooting an assessing frown at Cassandra—the man of the house indeed.

Noticing her children’s confusion, Mistress Callas soothed them in a shuddering voice. “It’s okay, my loves, don’t cry. Mama is not sad.” She scooped up the baby and gathered her boys. “We’ve been saved.” She aimed a look of tear-soaked gratitude at Cassandra. “I don’t know how you have done this, Sister Fortin, but your generosity will not go to waste. We will replace a way to pay this forward.”

Cassandra didn’t known what to say. “Take care of yourselves,” she choked out, before closing the door and striding to the landing, where she flopped onto the stairs, overcome with a complicated mix of bittersweet emotions.

The relief and joy were obvious. Mistress Callas and her family deserved every dracha they’d been gifted, especially with all they’d suffered this past year. And providing those children a better life, ensuring they didn’t lose their mother to obliviation, was worth every effort.

But pinpricks of fear gnawed at her. How long did she have until Opheron learned her true identity and shared it with Pagonis and the rest of the colony elite? How long before Tristan was unable to protect her?

And even more terrifying than her own potential demise was the very real possibility that the Callas family would be the last she’d be able to save.

The unending train of worrisome thoughts barreled through her, competing for her attention with the task that had brought her and Tristan to the outskirts of Dienses Square.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he remarked, glancing sidelong at Cassandra as they ambled down the avenue, keeping a leisurely pace to draw as little attention as possible. “What are you thinking about?”

Cassandra wondered how much of her overactive brain she should reveal to him. Would she scare him away? And why did she care so much if she did?

“Talk to me, Cass. I promise I’m good for more than just kissing.”

She huffed a laugh and gazed at him from underneath her hood. “And here I was assuming that was your greatest talent.”

His grin turned feral. “We haven’t even scratched the surface of my talents. But I refuse to share more until you beg me for them.”

Her body tingled, despite bristling at his arrogance. “That won’t be happening any time soon.”

“If you say so.” He nudged her with his wing. “Seriously, what’s got your mind in knots? Did something happen with Mistress Callas?”

She marveled that he was able to read her so clearly after knowing her for so short a time.

“Nothing happened really, I just…,”

“Don’t be scared to open up to me, Cassandra. I want to know what you’re thinking. I’m guessing the only person you can be yourself around is Xenia. You deserve a second opinion, don’t you think? And given I’m your only other friend—”

She whacked him on the arm but a giggle burst from her lips and a glow warmed her chest. Having only a single friend to confide in for the past eight years had been isolating. It was comforting to have another, a friendship forged quickly though not hastily. Could it hurt to talk to him about her fears?

“Do you think I’ve been doing the right thing with these families?”

“What makes you think you’re not?”

“I should have given more thought to how long I could sustain this, provide this help. Now that everything has blown up in my face—the Broker’s death, Pagonis potentially knowing what I’ve done—there’s no way I’ll be able to help another family. Am I a terrible person? For even starting down this path to begin with?”

They walked in companionable silence, turning down a side street that led to the seedier part of town. The crowd thinned as they left the city center behind. The bars and cafés dotting these outlying streets were hidden affairs intended for activities requiring a dark room and discreet staff. Her heartbeat ratcheted up with every second he remained silent.

“You’re not a terrible person,” he finally answered as they came upon an empty square. Only two of the four streetlamps were lit, casting an uneven glow upon the crumbling cobblestones. “But you are a criminal.”

She stopped dead. “Well, that’s the last time I open up to you.”

He paused as well, had the audacity to laugh. Angry heat crawled up her neck before he continued. “What I mean is, a criminal is a person who breaks the law. Which you must admit you did by stealing that necklace. But when the laws that govern a society are only serving a small slice of that society, sometimes it takes a little criminal activity to break the cycle.”

“A shocking admission coming from a member of law enforcement. If you think I’m a criminal, then why haven’t you arrested me?”

“Because you’re less of a criminal than the individuals I work for and the individuals they work for. Ethyrios could use a shake-up.”

He rustled his wings to muffle his treasonous words, and Cassandra’s adrenaline spiked. Dangerous to have this discussion where anyone could overhear; several open windows looked out onto the square from the surrounding rundown dwellings.

“And do your bosses know you feel this way?” she whispered.

“Of course not. This uniform is my cage, just as much as your robes are, Sister. I have no real power or authority. People like us can only afford small acts of rebellion.”

“Like allowing petty thieves to steal priceless pieces of jewelry?”

“Yes, especially when the priceless pieces of jewelry are not for themselves, but for the greater good. Who knows where those Callas boys would have ended up if they’d lost their mother? They could’ve turned to ruthless sources for help, may have grown up to commit worse crimes than yours. You saved four people from destitution and made the world a little better.”

“I didn’t do that, Tristan. You did.”

“But I did it for you,” he said quietly, once again gazing at her with that look in his eyes that terrified her. “Because you’re fierce and selfless and you make my world a little better. So, in the end, it’s your triumph. Don’t let me take it from you.”

His declaration settled over her like a healing balm. But she couldn’t help throwing him some snark, unable to bear the full weight of his sincerity. “Only a little better?”

He laughed and threw his arms around her, hugging her to his chest.

“You make my world a little better too, Birdman.” The cool leather of his uniform soothed her cheek as she slipped her arms around his waist, his feathers tickling her knuckles, and the slicing claws of her anxiety retracted. “It’s certainly been more interesting.”

He tugged her away and threw her a fiendish smile. “Oh Daredevil, you have no idea how interesting tonight is going to get. Come on, we’ve got important work to do.”

He barreled on, turning down a cramped street and forcing her to run to catch up. “What do you mean interesting? You haven’t told me how we’re going to lure Opheron.”

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” he answered over his shoulder. “Keep up, tiny human.”

“Your legs are a thousand times longer than mine,” she grumbled, reaching him as he slowed, allowing her to keep pace.

“You have any more guesses about the name of your dagger?”

“Kitara.”

“No.”

“Korene.”

“No.”

“Karra.”

Tristan chuckled. “No, but that’s your closest guess yet. You’re not very good at this.”

“I need better hints!” Cassandra kicked him in the shin, and he cried out in mock pain, making her laugh and chasing away the last of her worries.

They approached that all-too-familiar alley a few twisty streets later. The battered wood sign of the Empress’s Lap creaked above the quiet street. A remnant of the establishment’s previous life, it showed a seated female silhouette with two enormous black wings.

“Do you think Opheron’s inside?” Cassandra whispered.

“Even if he is, I don’t think he can hear us out here,” Tristan whispered dramatically.

“Ass,” she said, elbowing him.

“You can curse now?”

Her mouth dropped open; she hadn’t realized he’d noticed her aversion to swearing. “Only that word.”

“Why that one?” he asked, a feline smile curving his sensuous lips.

“You know why.” She blushed.

“Then there are more dirty words I’d like to teach you someday. Come on.” He clasped her hand and tugged her into the darkened alley.

Cassandra pinched her eyes shut as visions of a grotesquely snarling face, chunks of torn flesh, and a pile of bloody limbs swam behind her eyelids.

Tristan ran a soothing thumb along her knuckles. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Cass. I promise.”

She let out a shaky breath and opened her eyes. “Okay. I’m okay. I can do this.”

“I know you can. You’re a badass criminal.” He winked, and a horde of butterflies took flight in her stomach.

“And what are we doing exactly?”

“So, here’s the part where I’m going to need you to trust me.” He pressed her up against the wall between the barrels, his honey-brown eyes dancing with mischief.

“I don’t like the sound of this. Or that look you’re giving me.”

She almost laughed at how quickly his face went blank. “This is all business, I assure you.”

“I’m listening,” she answered carefully.

“Based on your two previous interactions with Opheron, we know he wants to feed on your emotions, yes?” He cocked an expectant eyebrow.

“Why am I nervous to agree with you?”

He bit his lip to keep from chuckling.

“Wrath of Vestan, Tristan, just tell me!”

“We’re going to use your emotions to lure him. The most attractive to a Deathstalker are lust and fear,” Tristan said, placing his strong hands at her waist and gazing into her eyes, trying to decipher her reaction.

“But I’m not scared of you,” Cassandra replied steadily, despite her skyrocketing pulse.

“I’m well aware of that.” He grinned wantonly. “Guess we’ll have to use lust.”

She ripped off her hood. “Are you crazy?”

“Those who know me well would answer yes. But I think this is a brilliant idea.” He cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, sending shivers down her spine and proving his point. “I could scent how much you wanted me last night, despite the rules of your order. And I’m betting there’s a part of you that wants to do it again. Do a little more even.”

More. He’d remembered their conversation from the kitchen.

“But you came up with this plan before last night,” she said. “What made you think I would agree to this before I kissed you?”

“You can try to deny it, Cass, but I know you’ve wanted me since Saturday at the Fang and Claw. And if I could recall every moment from that memory you pulled from me last Thursday, I’m guessing I’d know you’ve wanted me since then.”

Her annoyance flared, but she did nothing to remove his hands from her cheek, her waist. As much as it scared her to be laid so bare, it was all true.

“Look,” he continued, “this way, you can give yourself permission to do this not for selfish reasons, but to get us the information we need to replace your Sisters. But I’m not going to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Say the word and we’ll leave. We can replace another way to trap Opheron.”

He continued to stroke her cheek, desire darkening his eyes and contradicting his statement that this was all business. She knew it wasn’t for her either.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, peering up at him through her lashes.

“I’m going to touch you.” His eyes were hooded, his beautiful face savage, all signs of teasing erased. The hand on her hip tightened.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Wherever you’ll let me.”

“What if someone sees?”

“I’ll hide us underneath my wings. No one will see.”

“Do you ever activate your Ghostwalker abilities for anything other than pinning women up against walls?”

Tristan chuckled. “Not since I met you. You will have to be quiet though. It won’t be easy.”

She scoffed. “You’re awfully confident.”

“As much as I’d love to hear you scream my name tonight, we don’t want to tip off Opheron too early. How about this? If you can keep quiet after what I’m about to do to you, I’ll tell you the name of your dagger.” He stroked his thumb across her bottom lip with a shaky hand, as if his nerves intended sabotage. She suspected this meant as much to him as it did to her.

She trembled with desire at the realization. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

Tristan was clever in framing the interaction as a duty to the investigation, to her Sisters—a courageous feat to entrap Opheron by any means necessary. He’d said he was only going to touch her, which she knew Mother Superior wouldn’t be able to scent.

“It’s your call, Daredevil.”

And there it was, the nickname that stirred her soul. A rallying cry for the rebel beneath the robes and tattoo. Not a cowering Shrouded Sister, but a force of nature. A woman ready to experience everything life had to offer. In the dark and quiet of the alley, behind a building where all manner of pleasures had been exchanged, she didn’t want to deny herself any longer.

Gazing into his pleading golden-brown eyes, she tucked a strand of his dark hair behind his ear and let her palm linger on his cheek. He nuzzled into her touch, releasing a soft groan.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Thank the High Gods,” he mumbled, spreading his wings around them and enveloping her in his spicy, oaky scent. The shake of his feathers as he activated the camouflage reminded her of a baby’s rattle. Or a rattlesnake. Innocent or dangerous? She had yet to decide.

“Turn around,” he commanded in a low, silken voice.

She obeyed and he pulled her back flush with his front.

Slowly tugging the pins from her coronet, he released her hair but left the braid intact.

Once he’d extracted the last pin, he yanked down on the plait, causing her to gasp as he exposed her throat. He pressed his mouth beneath her jaw. “I thought I told you to be quiet,” he whispered before trailing gentle kisses down the length of her neck. Her skin tingled in the wake of his velvet-soft lips.

He removed her satchel and untied her cloak, letting both fall to the ground. He stroked her arms, traced circles across her abdomen, dragged his fingers up her thighs, squeezed her breasts and ass—testing, assessing, deciding where to strike first. His body was a solid wall at her back, and his warmth seeped into her as the hard muscles of his arms shifted and tightened. She bit her lip to keep from moaning but couldn’t stop a soft whimper.

Anticipation burned a blazing path beneath her skin. She wanted him to stop teasing, wanted him to plunge his hands down her pants, touch her flesh like she’d craved last night.

As if he heard her unsaid request, he hooked an arm around her waist and palmed her hip as he thrust his other hand under her shirt, fluttering his callused fingertips across her bare stomach. She leaned her head back onto his chest and bit down so hard on her tongue to keep from making noise that she drew blood, the metallic taste filling her mouth.

He dipped his middle finger into her belly button, stroking in a way that showed her exactly how delicious that finger would feel when dipped into other parts of her.

Running his nose along her neck, luxuriating in her scent, he traced wider and wider circles on her bare stomach. His knuckles brushed the undersides of her breasts. “Your body is a miracle. I could touch you for hours and never get enough.”

“Is it working?” she choked out.

“You tell me.” She could hear his smirk, could feel it against her neck.

She elbowed him in the gut, and the grunt he released tightened her nipples. “You know what I meant.”

“If you’re asking whether the scent of your lust is apparent, the answer is most definitely yes.”

“What does it smell like?” she breathed.

“Sweet and spicy—just like you. Intoxicating. Like the only place in the world I want to be right now.”

She shuddered, pressing her thighs together to relieve the ache throbbing to life between them.

He tucked the right cup of her bra underneath her breast, exposing her peaked nipple under her shirt. The fabric scratched against the sensitive tip, and she nearly cried out. “I don’t hear anyone approaching yet, so we’ll need to make the scent stronger. Would you like that?”

All she could manage in response was a soft moan as she arched into his touch, needing more of everything.

He exposed her left breast and trailed his finger along the taut lace. “What color is this today?”

“Sparkling black,” she whispered, “like your wings.”

A tortured sound echoed from the back of his throat before he clamped his teeth on her neck and twisted her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

She groaned, soaking her matching black panties and pushing back into his hips. The evidence of his own arousal pressed into her ass.

“You could try a little harder to stay quiet, yeah?” he said. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

Her anger simmered at his tone, at the power he wielded over her. But her body was begging for him, her nerve endings pulsating to a heady tune they’d never sung before, and she was drowning in the melody.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, heroically trying to stay quiet while he pinched and flicked her tender nipples.

Massaging her breasts with one hand, he used the other to push her leggings down, exposing her to the chill night air and locking her knees in place. He was in complete control.

He stroked his fingers along the front of her panties, chuckling at how drenched they were. A blush crept up her cheeks.

He pushed his cock against her ass as he cupped her sex. “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you have any idea how fucking tempting you are right now, all flushed and wet and ready for me?”

“Tristan,” she moaned. “Stop teasing.”

His dark laughter enveloped her as he palmed her breasts and caressed the front of her panties in light, taunting strokes. Her body was as taut as a bowstring waiting to be plucked, her release building low in her gut as she undulated against him, desperate for any source of friction and relishing all the places their bodies connected.

Though she often touched herself in the same ways Tristan was touching her, there was no comparison. Nothing had ever felt this good, as if he were bringing her to life with each brush of his powerful hands.

“What do you want, Daredevil? Tell me,” he purred.

Could she say it? There was no reason to be shy, not when she’d already come this far.

“I want…,” she hesitated, then gasped as he dipped his fingertips into her panties, stopping inches from where she needed him.

“Go on,” he whispered, nipping at her neck and jaw with his sharp canines and flicking her nipple.

She threw her arms back, gripping the back of his neck, then pushed herself into the cradle of his hips, drawing a growl from him that rumbled through her bones.

She turned her head, their lips close enough to share breath. “I want you to put your fingers inside me.”

He groaned into her mouth, his gaze searing, then thrust himself against her and inched his fingertips lower, circling agonizingly slowly just outside her entrance. “Oh yeah?” His voice was thick and rough as he pulled her right leg fully out of her leggings. “Put your foot against the wall.”

“Tristan,” she exhaled, obeying his order. “Please.”

“There’s the begging I was hoping for.” He didn’t hesitate, angled his wrist and pierced her wet, aching flesh with his middle finger. He clamped his hand over her mouth to stifle the howl that ripped out of her as she pressed her foot against the brick and rocked her hips forward.

He shuddered against her neck. “Fuck, you feel like paradise. I wish I didn’t have to smother those noises. Can you feel how hard you’re making me?” He pushed his hips into her ass again, accentuating his point, and even through his thick leather pants, she could tell he was huge. High Gods, she couldn’t wait to confirm it.

He thrust his long, talented finger in and out at a slow, teasing pace, dragging it against a spot deep within that opened her up like a flower exposing its tender petals. Her inner muscles clamped around him, working her toward release, the sensation so pleasurable she thought she might pass out.

Using the wall for leverage, instinct took over as she rode his hand, rolling her hips to match the thrusts of his pillaging finger. He added a second, pumping hard and fast, leaving his other hand in place at her mouth to mask her moans.

Just when she thought her soul was going to burst through her skin, he began circling her clit with his thumb—gently at first, then pressing harder with each pass. He continued circling and thrusting, massaging those magical spots inside and out, the increasing tension nearly unbearable.

“I’d sacrifice my fucking wings to be inside you right now,” he whispered against her cheek. “You wanna be my bad girl, Cass? Come for me.”

Her name on his tongue combined with the two-pronged assault between her thighs shattered her body into pieces. The force of her climax rippled from her sex, sending fireworks of pleasure sparking along her limbs. Tristan forced his thumb into her mouth to muffle her scream, and she bit down hard as he stroked her through every last ebb and flow of her release.

Her body went limp in his arms, her foot falling from the wall, and she panted so loudly that she barely heard the footsteps approaching.

Multiple sets of footsteps.