The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 36

Tristan waited behind the Cloisters as dusk fell on an overcast sky. Ominous clouds smothered the land, primed to unleash torrents. There wasn’t a hint of wind; the stagnant air was sticky and soupy. When the storm arrived, the raindrops would be fat, heavy, drenching.

He’d left his jacket in his room, donning only his leather pants and white shirt—safer to visit the Serpent’s Den as a client rather than a Vestian on official business.

But the pregnant sky made him second guess that decision. At least he could shelter under his wings.

Standing outside her window, his thoughts turned, as they so often did these days, to Cassandra.

His playmate.

Tristan still couldn’t believe it.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think Cassandra would make such a request, especially not while she belonged to the order. The glorious little rulebreaker.

And her first request? By fucking Amatu, he’d almost shot to the moon when the filthy words had escaped her shy, smiling mouth.

Their encounter replayed over and over in his mind: her delicate hand squeezing and stroking him, the sight of her naked breast, the heat in her eyes when she’d licked his cum from her fingers. High Gods, he’d been ready to burst all day, couldn’t wait to return the favor.

He’d tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the memory of their encounter at bay while he visited the Secretariat this morning and briefed the Vicereine on the investigation’s progress. He told her everything they’d gleaned from Opheron’s memories.

The case had taken a dangerous turn, one with more far-reaching consequences than the disappearance of three Shrouded Sisters. Whoever was seeking the Delirium formula aimed to unravel the very fabric of Ethyrian society. And though Tristan held little respect for the Emperor and would love nothing more than to see the male removed from power, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to withhold a development that could result in another devastating war.

He also told the Vicereine of Opheron’s demise, that the Deathstalker had stolen the necklace—partly true—and that he’d be chasing a lead regarding its location tonight. The Vicereine had barked at Tristan to make quicker progress, but he was relieved that Cassandra was off the hook. For now.

After his tense visit to the Secretariat, he’d stopped by Vestian headquarters where he picked up a new dagger, asked Hella to cover tonight’s watch, and checked in with the autopsy team. The Broker’s corpse had revealed nothing they didn’t already know, though they did confirm last Saturday night as the time of the man’s death.

Without any new information to ponder, his mind had wandered back to Cassandra on his return flight to the Temple. His excitement over their new arrangement couldn’t chase away his guilt that she was risking her position within the order. If, High Gods forbid it, she were banished, he hoped she’d let him take her in. He puzzled over why she hadn’t left the Temple long ago. She was savvy enough to have made a different life for herself.

As he contemplated Cassandra’s loyalty to the Shrouded Sisters, he thought about his own reasons for remaining with the Vestians.

Why did he stay?

There was, of course, the simple fact that he was no longer welcome on the continent. And here in the colonies, there weren’t many employment options for the Fae. He’d entertained a few when he first arrived. Reena had offered him a bartending job at the Fang and Claw, but he declined. Had too many other skills he wanted to utilize and keep sharp.

The Vicereine had begged him to become a councilor in her sham government. He likely would have thrived but couldn’t stomach the thought. So instead, he became one of her guard dogs. The position did occasionally offer some small victories, and protecting the mortals of Thalenn fulfilled him. He couldn’t do that as a councilor, and would likely be working to undermine mortals for the benefit of the Empire.

He wasn’t staying for the salary. Vestian Guards were paid handsomely, but he didn’t need the money. He wasn’t lying to Cass the other night about the hundred thousand drachas being a pittance to him. He had many times that amount, useless wealth that he probably should have given away years ago but had decided to keep as a security fund—perhaps for the family he’d have one day.

He snorted at the thought. Like that was going to happen anytime soon. No one had tempted him since he’d left the continent.

Until now.

Though he knew any long-term wishes he had for Cassandra were foolish. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a mate—smart, strong, snarky, and sexy. His equal in every way but one.

She was mortal.

And he wouldn’t risk her safety by illegally turning her Fae.

She deserved a human lover who would age at the same pace, someone she could grow old with. He wouldn’t take that from her. Even if he was physically incapable of denying her what she’d requested this morning. He’d enjoy it while he could.

And hope he was brave enough to let her go when the time came.

She materialized inside her room, as if summoned by his hectic thoughts.

Leaning out of her open window, her blue-gray eyes twinkled, and her sweet, earthy scent wrapped around him like a soothing embrace.

“What’s the plan tonight, Birdman? What should I wear?”

He loved his nickname—no other mortal dared to address him so irreverently.

Despite the cheekiness, he scented her underlying anxiety. They needed to get going if they wanted to eat before the Serpent’s Den opened, so he didn’t have time to pry. But he made a mental note to probe at dinner.

“You’re not going to like this,” he snickered.

She glared down at him, crossing her arms over her ample chest. High Gods, her breasts were absolutely perfect. He couldn’t wait to taste them. How had he not done that yet?

“The courtesan won’t remember that young man without viewing the memory,” he said. “Which you are going to have to show to her. Which means you need to come inside with me.” He waited for her to process what he was saying.

“Only clients are allowed in,” she said.

He bit his lip and tilted his chin down, gazing at her from under his brows, patiently giving her time to work it out.

“Frenzied Dienses, you want me to pretend to be your mortal consort, don’t you?” she gaped at him, her tempting mouth hanging open and making his skin tighten across his bones.

Most Fae who patronized the Serpent’s Den, including many councilors, brought human consorts along to show off and play with. He’d likely see a few Fae he knew but was confident they wouldn’t approach him, would want to avoid being recognized as much as he did. Though the optics were slimy, these arrangements between Fae and mortals weren’t illegal. In fact, they were the only types of sexual relationships between mortals and Fae that weren’t expressly outlawed by the Accords. And mortal consorts were often paid just enough to keep them willing and dependent. But the councilors certainly wouldn’t want their constituents to know about them.

“It’s just for show, Cass. Unless you’re interested in being my consort?” he waggled his eyebrows, and she scoffed before an adorable giggle burst from her rosebud lips.

“Climb in and help me pick out something to wear, master.” She winked, and he did as he was told.

This master-consort relationship was off to a lopsided start.

As he entered the neat, feminine-smelling space, she pulled open her armoire. The clothing within was pressed and organized by color, including several pairs of black training attire and midnight blue dress robes. And not much else.

She surveyed the clothes, running a distracting finger over her bottom lip. “I only have one outfit that a consort might wear, but Letha spare me, I am not traveling in it.”

He knew she meant the tiny white nightgown and silky pink robe she’d tormented him in the other night.

“Not sure I want other males seeing you in that, but I agree it’d be a good disguise. The other consorts will likely be dressed even more scandalously.” Her cheeks went a charming shade of pink. “Wear your training attire for now and put the nightgown and robe in your satchel. You can change after we eat. I’ll make you a dressing room under my wings.”

She laughed as she unwound her braid, her chocolate waves tumbling around her shoulders. He wanted to run his fingers through them.

And what was stopping him, now that she’d made it clear she wanted him? Nothing, he decided as he stepped towards her.

She gazed up at him, a question in her eyes.

He trailed his fingers through the lustrous strands, bringing them to his nose and inhaling. His eyes rolled back at the intoxicating scent.

“You are demented,” she chuckled.

“You smell good. Can’t help myself,” he smirked, ruffling his feathers. “Need help changing, playmate?”

“I—” She almost said no but cut herself off. Her eyes were hooded as her hands went slack at her sides, and she nodded.

He towered over her, amazed by how small she was when her presence in his mind, in his life, was so large. The top of her head barely crested his shoulder.

He unhooked the tiny pearl buttons that marched down the front of her bodice, lingering between her breasts. Tucking his fingers inside, he caressed her bare stomach, needing to put his hands on her velvet-soft skin. She gasped at the touch, but her eyes remained glued to his. The musky scent of her arousal drifted up, and he tried not to inhale it too greedily.

He waved a gentle gust of wind that ruffled her hair and pushed the dress from her shoulders. The thick blue fabric cascaded down her stunning curves, pooling at her feet.

She stood before him, head held high, in nothing but a crimson-red bra and matching pair of lace panties that called to him like a beacon against her creamy skin.

His cock strained against his leather pants as he swept his hands over her stomach, her thighs, the swells of her breasts.

“Amatu spare me, Cassandra, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Liar,” she smirked. “You’re just saying that because I’m standing in front of you half-naked.”

“You’re more like three-quarters naked. But it doesn’t make my statement any less true.” He was frozen in place, couldn’t take his eyes off her body. Wanted to touch, lick, taste.

Claim.

“This was a bad idea,” he admitted, relishing her answering chuckle. “My instincts are roaring at me to stay in this room for days, doing things to you that Mother Superior would definitely scent. Things other mortals would scent.”

Her heated, hopeful eyes made it hard for him to breathe.

“Someday,” he whispered, running his thumb across her parted lips. “You’d better get dressed before I lose my resolve, peel off those panties, and get you kicked out of the order.”

She shuddered, then kissed his thumb before stepping away with a devilish grin—a future promise for more.

She pulled her leggings up over that magnificent ass, then shrugged on her top and put on her fingerless gloves to hide her tattoo.

He handed her the glowing vial containing the young man’s memory as she looped her satchel across her chest.

He exited through the window, then turned to offer her a hand.

“Ready to fly, Daredevil?”

“Always, Birdman. Looks like the skies are about to open up. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“You’re always safe with me. Well, mostly,” he winked and scooped her out of the window.

Ten minutes later, they touched down in front of his favorite food stall in Dienses Square as a lightning bolt and a crack of thunder heralded the downpour. He settled Cassandra on her feet and raised his wings, squeezing his feathers together to keep the deluge from running through and soaking them.

“Convenient,” she said. “My own personal walking umbrella.”

Tristan snickered as they approached the covered stall. Several of the vendor’s neighbors were not so fortunate, their shouts echoing as they scurried for blankets to protect their wares.

“Officer Saros, it’s been a while, eh?” the old man inside the stall hollered in a lilting, musical accent. “You been getting your meatballs somewhere else, you scab?”

The man had a jolly face with thick white eyebrows and round pink cheeks. As he leaned out the window of his stall, mock-affronted, plump raindrops splattered on his rosy, bald head.

Tristan laughed, tugging Cassandra closer to keep her dry. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Master Mageira. Yours are the best in the city. Two bowls, please. And two beers. Sound good, Cass?”

She nodded up at him, smiling. “Smells delicious.”

Master Mageira heaped a steaming pile of meatballs into two paper bowls, then topped them with a dollop of creamy sauce and tucked in two slices of charred flatbread. He handed the bowls to Tristan before offering two bottles of hazy golden beer to Cassandra.

“Careful, Master Mageira. Cass here can’t be trusted with too much alcohol. She gets real handsy when she’s drunk.”

She kicked him, hard, in the calf as she grabbed the bottles. “Watch it or I’ll show you just how handsy I can be.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” He winked.

Master Mageira chuckled. “Date’s going well, eh?”

An errant raindrop seeped through Tristan’s wings and splashed off Cassandra’s blushing cheek. “Not a date, Master Mageira. We’re just business partners,” he answered.

The old man tilted his head, not buying it. “Two drachas fifty, please.”

Tristan balanced the bowls in one hand as he fished the coins from his pocket, doubling the total. Master Mageira shouted his thanks for the tip as Tristan guided Cassandra towards a tented seating area several stalls down. The torrential downpour had scared off the majority of the crowd, so there were plenty of open tables.

Fat raindrops drummed a rhythmic beat off the taut canvas as Cassandra chose a spot by a cutout window, errant droplets tinkling onto the metal tabletop.

Cassandra dug into her dinner as Tristan folded himself into the tiny chair across from her. He squirmed in his seat at the noises she made as she ate, so similar to how she’d sounded last night when he’d had his fingers inside her.

“Enjoying it?” he asked, failing to keep his lips from curving upwards.

“What?” she asked, her mouth half-full of meatball. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re making sex noises,” he smirked, dropping his head and digging into his own portion.

“I am not!”

He speared a meatball, dipped it in the sauce, then popped it in his mouth, chewing as he answered her. “You forget that I now know what your sex noises sound like.”

She leaned forward, whispering, “You don’t even know the half of it.”

He choked on his beer, then tipped the bottle towards her. “Challenge accepted.”

She clinked it with her own bottle before returning to her meal with a sly smile.

He sniffed the air for the sour scent of anxiety he’d noted earlier. It was there, not quite as potent, but the food and rain were dampening his senses.

“You nervous about tonight?”

Her head shot up, smoky blue eyes churning. “Why do you ask?”

He tapped his nose, and she frowned, her bottom lip poking out adorably. He wanted to lick it.

She launched into her explanation with none of the hesitation she’d previously employed when he’d asked her a sensitive question—progress.

“I have something of a history with the Serpent’s Den,” she said, taking a long swig of her beer before thunking the bottle down. “My father was a member of the mortal police force. He was killed there about a decade ago while trying to take down a Beastrunner who’d been illegally trafficking mortal girls to the continent.”

Her chin quivered as she shifted her gaze upwards, trying not to cry. Her hand drifted to her pendant.

He grabbed her other hand, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles as her watery gaze returned to him. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. If I’d known, I never would’ve asked you to join me.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I need to move past it.”

“He teach you all your slick fighting moves?”

She nodded, her sad smile spreading. “He did. He used to tell me I was the bravest girl in Ethyrios. I used to believe him.”

He squeezed her hand. “I still believe him.”

Gratitude shone in her eyes, then dimmed. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost that girl. Like he’d be so disappointed if he could see me now, see the meek Sister I’ve become. I feel like I’ve been stuck for the past eight years, trying to comprehend his misplaced pride in me.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping her chin up and scenting the melancholy roiling off her in chill, minty waves. “How can you say that? After all those families you’ve saved? After everything you’ve done for the investigation?”

She scoffed, and he gripped her chin tighter. “You have,” he said. “We’re only here tonight because of the clues you found. Give yourself some credit. Cael and I would be lost without you.”

I would be lost without you.

He wasn’t yet bold enough to voice that sentiment.

“It doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough. How many families are risking obliviation while I’m sitting here?”

“You can’t solve all the world’s problems single-handedly, Cass,” he said. “Or in a day. Even heroes have to eat.”

She scowled. “I am not a hero.”

“You are to those families. You are to Mistress Callas and her children. You are to Xenia,” he countered. “You are to me.”

She lowered her head, shaking it slowly. “How can I trust the word of someone I’ve known for less than two weeks?”

“I’m an excellent judge of character.” He pinched her cheek, and her lips curved slightly.

“You’re always talking me off the ledge,” she snorted. “You must think I’m a basket case, all these anxieties I keep sharing with you.”

He leveled a stern look at her. “Never. Someday I’ll tell you my sordid backstory, and you’ll run screaming when you realize I’m the basket case.”

His chest loosened at her warm, breathy laugh.

“Seriously, Daredevil,” he said, “your father would be proud of you. You have no reason to question it. But if you’re worried about how you’ll react there, say the word and we’ll turn around.”

She took a deep breath, followed by another long swig of beer, draining her bottle. “No, I want to do this. Every minute we delay is another minute lost for my Sisters. Letha only knows what they’re doing to Cora to pry the other half of that formula from her. We need to replace them. My discomfort doesn’t matter.”

“Bravest girl in Ethyrios,” he muttered as she pushed back from the table. “Or maybe you’re just excited to be my consort for the night?”

“It’ll be the honor of my life, Birdman,” she winked, and the last of his uneasiness drifted away. She gathered their trash, depositing it into marked containers. As soon as she exited, he scooped her up and blasted into the night, angling his body to protect her from the storm, and she nuzzled into him.

He thought to himself how happy it made him.

To have someone to take care of again.