The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 37

Cassandra sipped champagne from a delicate flute, trying not to expose Tristan’s ruse with her prickling nerves.

He was a reassuring presence behind her, seated on a stool and resting his shimmering wings against the white marble bar in the elegant lobby of the Serpent’s Den.

The infamous pleasure house was classier than Cassandra had anticipated.

Matte-black walls soaked up the candlelight from the dramatic chandelier, dripping with twinkling crystals in the center of the night-dark ceiling. The lack of magic was purposeful; the Fae clientele craved the novelty of tangling with mortals in a true colonial building. It was a pleasant deception—no mortal buildings in the colonies were this swanky.

Symmetrical arrangements of white leather settees were flanked by glass tables, each topped with a black vase overflowing with tuberose. The flowers’ rich, creamy fragrance heightened the carnal atmosphere.

Cassandra stood between Tristan’s legs, resting her elbow on his muscular thigh, as thick and solid as a beam of wood. With an arm curled around her waist, he trailed his fingers along her hip, inspiring shivers of pleasure throughout her body. He scanned the room for the pretty, brunette courtesan, but she’d yet to make an appearance.

Though the Serpent’s Den had opened mere minutes ago, a boisterous crowd already hummed and jostled in the lobby, anxious to claim their favorites before they lost their chance for the night.

The high-end clientele was mostly Fae, though there were a few humans scattered throughout—consorts like Cassandra and a few customers, all oozing wealth. How could the young man have afforded to visit such a place?

Tristan wasn’t exaggerating when he said the other consorts would be dressed scandalously. There were ample amounts of flesh on display, even discounting the flesh available for purchase.

One statuesque consort was nude from the waist up, her perky breasts aimed towards the ceiling as she stood next to her master, a Beastrunner panther bi-form with jet-black coloring and a carnivorous countenance. A gauzy, black skirt fell from the consort’s waist, high slits exposing long, golden legs that Cassandra envied.

As soon as Cassandra had noted the consort’s outfit, or lack thereof, she’d shucked off her robe and stuffed it into her satchel. Wearing the robe would’ve revealed Cassandra’s discomfort, broadcast that she wasn’t one of them.

She’d also had the foresight to remove her bra as she was changing outside in her makeshift, feathery dressing room. She made Tristan close his eyes, didn’t need the tempting distraction of his heated gaze.

She was surprised to replace she didn’t feel uncomfortable in a room full of strangers wearing nothing but the translucent nightgown. One strap refused to stay put and after her fourth attempt to correct it, she’d given up. The silky neckline was now barely held in place by the swell of her breast, and Tristan’s eyes frequently dipped there, his hand tightening on her hip with each glance.

She fingered her pendant as her thoughts turned to her father, the true source of her ragged nerves. It was difficult standing in the building where he’d taken his last breath. She willed the champagne to dull the razor-sharp tension slicing at her.

As if sensing her mounting anxiety, Tristan squeezed her tighter, pressing his lips to her cheek and whispering, “He would be proud of you, brave girl.”

And she did think her father would be proud of her—undercover and searching for her missing Sisters. Though he would’ve disapproved of her attire. She chuckled, something vital loosening in her chest.

A winged Fae male approached them, consort in tow.

The male was handsome, looked about a decade older than Tristan which meant he was likely many centuries older. The Windrider’s cinnamon-blond hair swept back from his angular face in groomed waves, and his espresso eyes flickered in the glistening candlelight. The female consort was stunning, with alabaster skin and hair like spun gold. Her light sea-green eyes consumed Tristan with blatant hunger.

Tristan did look particularly edible tonight. His leather pants were tight in all the right places, and his white cotton shirt hugged his absurd muscles, showing off his trim waist plus a sliver of golden-brown chest. His hair was tied back in that low knot, a few loose inky strands framing his striking face. His broad, kissable lips formed into a mischievous grin as he caught sight of the couple stalking towards them.

Cassandra bristled at the woman’s intense stare, then nestled into Tristan, pressing her back against his chest and groin.

Mine.

The Windrider male fluttered his sapphire wings, a subtle mating call. “Welcome, friends,” he said, in an oddly high-pitched voice, speaking solely to Tristan. Misogynist and keeper of consorts—what a gem. “I haven’t seen you two here before. First trip to the Serpent’s Den?”

Tristan played along. “It is. Usually I prefer to keep Ker all to myself, but she was feeling frisky tonight.” He swept his hand possessively up Cassandra’s ribs, stroking her breast and making her breath catch. “She wanted to come out and play. And I live to indulge her.”

“I see,” the male said, exposing wolfish white teeth and dragging his eyes presumptuously over Cassandra’s body. “Aneka often feels the same, so you can replace us here most weekends.” The tightness around Aneka’s well-shaped mouth exposed the man’s lie about who truly wanted to play. Though Aneka resumed eyeing Tristan as if she wouldn’t mind playing with him.

Tristan gave Aneka a subtle nod, biting his lower lip.

Cassandra fought a sudden urge to elbow him in the very sensitive area she was standing in front of.

It gave her little comfort to know he was acting a part. But did she have a right to be annoyed?

Besides the pact they’d made this morning to play together, there was no promise of monogamy between them. And how could there be with her chastity vow, that insurmountable boundary, stretched between them? They couldn’t do more than touch and tease, and as much as Cassandra, with her limited experience, was fulfilled by that, she suspected he wouldn’t be for long. He’d had centuries of sexual encounters; how could she possibly hope to hold his attention?

“What do you say, friends? Care to have a little fun together?” the blue-winged male offered, staring at Cassandra with such piercing intensity that he was oblivious to how blatantly Aneka was devouring Tristan with her marine eyes.

Tristan brushed Cassandra’s hair from her neck and dragged his lips along the newly exposed skin. “It’s up to you, Ker. Fancy a few extra playmates?” He bit down softly, a signal for her to take the lead.

In spite of her galloping pulse, Cassandra plastered on a bored expression. She sipped her champagne as Tristan raked his sharp canines up her throat, then nipped at her jaw, wringing a soft whimper from her lips. Aneka looked ready to combust, desperate to trade places.

“No, thanks,” Cassandra said in a deep, throaty voice that wasn’t her own, eyes hooded and blasé. “I’m not into blonds.” Tristan’s swallowed laugh tickled her neck.

The Windrider male and Aneka both gaped, the stinging rejection inconceivable. The male’s face shuttered, and he cleared his throat. “Enjoy your evening.” His words were clipped as he grabbed Aneka’s upper arm, fingers digging into her ivory flesh, and led her across the room towards the panther bi-form and his topless, long-limbed consort.

Tristan placed his hand on Cassandra’s jaw and turned her face towards him in profile, whispering against her cheek. “Well played. That was August Lambros, a councilor in the Vicereine’s government and a good friend of Alcander Pagonis. I’ve seen him at the palace before—I’m sure he recognized me. Playing with them might’ve been worth it for the blackmail material.”

“Or might’ve been worth it for you to get your hands on Aneka,” Cassandra said, more sharply than she’d intended. “At least she doesn’t have a chastity vow standing in your way.”

“Are you jealous, Daredevil?” He smirked against her cheek as he pulled her in tighter.

Cassandra was about to answer when a fine-boned mortal woman pushed through the black velvet curtain beside the bar, striding confidently into the room. She wore nothing but a white lace corset and thong, her slim legs covered in matching thigh-high stockings and garters. Her golden-brown hair was piled in lustrous curls atop her head, and a few tendrils bounced off her rosy cheeks as she strutted up to the bar.

The courtesan from the young man’s memory.

The woman’s blue eyes widened, her pupils dilating when she caught sight of Tristan.

High Gods, did every female in Ethyrios take one look at him and instantly want to jump into bed?

Despite the possessive twinge that gripped her, Cassandra was thankful that Tristan had captured the courtesan’s attention—several other Fae males were rushing toward them to claim the comely brunette for the night.

Ignoring the other males, the courtesan sidled up to Tristan and wrapped her hand around his biceps, squeezing and murmuring appreciatively.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” she crooned into his ear. “You and your consort looking for company?” The courtesan stroked a soft finger down Cassandra’s cheek, pulling at her bottom lip. “This one is quite the beauty. I wouldn’t even charge extra for her.”

Something nudged against Cassandra’s lower back.

Real professional.

Though the thought of Tristan hardening at the sight of her with another woman roused a wickedness within her.

“As a matter of fact, we are,” Tristan hopped off the stool, holding Cassandra in front of him to hide his arousal.

The courtesan’s lips parted into a seductive yet practiced smile as she cupped Cassandra’s cheeks and pressed a gentle kiss onto her mouth.

That wicked thing stirred again.

The courtesan’s lips were warm and lively, though a little dry—certainly not unpleasant, but not as supple as Tristan’s. A small groan escaped him.

Tristan pulled himself together by the time the courtesan backed away. The woman pushed Cassandra aside, then lured Tristan into an even more intense kiss.

Cassandra turned from the spectacle, scolding herself for the overwhelming wave of jealousy that crashed over her. She threw back the rest of her champagne, trying to drown out the courtesan’s soft whimpers and the wet, smacking sounds of their tongues meeting and parting.

When they finally came up for air, the courtesan introduced herself. “I’m Yulia. Pleasure to meet you both. Come meet me upstairs, room 427.”

Yulia sauntered toward the sweeping black staircase at the back of the room, leaving a trail of dejected males—both Fae and human—in her wake.

Don’t worry fellas, Cassandra thought. We won’t be keeping her long.

Cassandra spun towards Tristan, a complicated mix of emotions swirling through her: a curious ember of titillation at the courtesan’s kiss, bristling nerves about their next steps, and a healthy dose of bitterness at all the women falling at Tristan’s feet. Especially the courtesan who’d just become far too intimately familiar with Tristan’s tongue.

The last strong-armed its way to the forefront of Cassandra’s consciousness, and she tried not to let her annoyance show given all the eyes settling upon them after their exchange with Yulia. “Does this happen everywhere you go?”

Tristan grabbed his tumbler off the bar, draining his whiskey in a single gulp. “What?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Women, females, throwing themselves at you.”

Stop, she shouted internally.

“More often than not,” he admitted, cupping her ass and pulling her flush. He kissed her shoulder and whispered against her skin. “But I could be asking you the same tonight.”

He cupped her jaw and angled her head towards the crowd. And she did notice a startling number of males regarding her intensely and eyeing Tristan enviously.

He touched his cheek to hers, gazing into the crowd. “Why would I want any other playmate when I already have the most breathtaking one in the room?”

She swallowed as she turned to face him, so close their noses were touching. She screamed at herself for broaching the subject now, at the most inopportune time.

She didn’t know how to do this—how to be with someone without being with someone. She whispered, unable to stop the words that poured out, “Because you don’t have me, Tristan. And you can’t. Not in the way you could have any other woman, Aneka or Yulia included.”

A flash of anger passed over his face, and a low snarl leaked out of his gritted teeth. “We don’t have time for this right now. We have a job to do. I’ll argue with you about what I do and don’t want from you later—all night if necessary. After we get the information we need, alright?”

His outburst stunned her into silence, the edge in his tone sparking her indignation. “Fine,” she bit out through her clenched jaw.

He gripped her throat, firmly yet gently, acting the part of the master scolding his wayward consort. His lips parted into a strained, predatory smile. “Please wipe that look off your face and pretend you worship me, at least for the next thirty minutes. Unless you want to raise suspicions in this very dangerous room we’re arguing in?”

More eyes fell upon them, and her stomach dropped. She was risking their safety with her jealousy—so stupid and petty.

And why was she so jealous now? She hadn’t cared when she learned about his history with Reena and the Vicereine.

Perhaps it was her declaration this morning. She’d opened up in a way she never had with anyone and she was terrified. Visions of her mother’s vacant eyes swam in her head, and she felt an urgent need to protect the raw, vulnerable insides she’d exposed to him.

But he was right—they didn’t have time for this. Cora, Richelle, and Sister Kouris didn’t have time for her ridiculous feelings. She took a deep breath, then plastered on a submissive smile and placed a gloved hand on his cheek. “Yes, master,” she said, loudly enough for the surrounding crowd to hear.

He closed his eyes and released a guilty exhale, as if he could sense her reprimanding herself. He released her throat and grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Follow me, consort.”

As he led her toward the staircase, she surveyed the dark, smoky lobby, grateful that heads were turning away in search of other distractions. Relief swept through her, a cold compress to soothe the red-hot anger she was harboring, more for herself than for Tristan.

Several awkward minutes later, they were in Yulia’s room. Cassandra recognized it from the young man’s memory—clean, unsophisticated, not nearly as ostentatious as the lobby. The management must have assumed that if a client made it upstairs, the money was as good as spent, no need for further decorative seductions.

A wide, metal-framed bed draped in silvery silk linens occupied most of the room. A damp, chill breeze wafted through the open window, which offered a view of the Church of the Forgotten’s red brick bell tower. Her chest tightened as she pictured Cora flung carelessly over Opheron’s shoulder, an animal intended for slaughter.

Cassandra fidgeted atop the glistening sheets as Yulia gyrated at the foot of the bed, caressing her dainty body.

The courtesan began price negotiations with Tristan, a mountain of frosty indifference. “The going rate for couples is forty drachas an hour. But as I said downstairs, I replace your consort rather tempting.” The courtesan aimed a flirtatious smile at Cassandra. “So I’ll knock it down to thirty.”

Cassandra tugged at the hem of her nightgown, wished she could put on her robe. She felt more exposed up here than she had downstairs in a room full of strangers.

Tristan snatched Yulia’s hand before it dipped between her legs, and she expelled a disappointed squeak. “I’ll give you a hundred drachas, and we only need fifteen minutes of your time, Mistress.”

The courtesan jolted at both the sum and the hardness on Tristan’s face.

“Mistress?” Yulia chuckled. “No one calls me that in this room. I’m a sure thing, gorgeous—you can drop the manners.”

“He really can’t,” Cassandra piped up, and Tristan’s lip twitched. She was thrilled she could still amuse him, even when he was pissed at her.

“We’re not here to fuck,” Tristan said sharply. Yulia pouted up at him and a small part of Cassandra, something buried deep yet recently stirring, shared that sentiment. “Apologies for the misdirection, but we’re seeking information about one of your clients. A young man who you entertained a few weeks ago.”

“Love, I entertain many young men,” Yulia said, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her eyebrows skeptically. “And women.” She winked at Cassandra. “So unless you’ve got a picture of him, there’s no way I’ll be able to tell you anything.”

Tristan’s face lit up with his trademark dazzling smile, his dimple on tempting display. He gestured for Yulia to sit next to Cassandra. “You’re in luck. We’ve got something better.” Tristan nodded at Cassandra, a signal that it was time to make the grand reveal.

Cassandra lifted her satchel off the floor, and Yulia crept up next to her, the bed creaking with the additional weight. Cassandra pulled the golden, glowing glass vial from her satchel.

“Is that what I think it is?” Yulia asked, covering her mouth with a petite hand.

“It’s your client’s memory. He sacrificed it to Letha,” Cassandra answered.

“But that means…” Yulia cackled, doubled over at the waist despite her stiff corset. The bed squeaked beneath her, an amusing mimicry of the room’s typical activities. “I kissed a half-dressed Shrouded Sister. Letha spare me.”

“That makes two of us,” Tristan muttered under his breath, shooting a brief grin at Cassandra before his scowl returned, as if remembering he was supposed to be annoyed with her. “If you’re willing, we’d like you to watch the memory and tell us anything you can remember about this young man.”

Cassandra peeled off her gloves. “Take my hand. You need to touch me to view the memory.”

Yulia swallowed. “Am I… Am I about to watch myself? Fuck me.”

“Literally,” Tristan crooned from the end of the bed.

Yulia wiggled her fingers at him. “You want to get in on the action, gorgeous?”

He winked. “Seen it already.”

Cassandra pulled the cork from the vial and pressed it against her tattoo as she said the words. Then she relived every frenzied thrust—it was infinitely more embarrassing viewing the memory with its star. A pang of guilt knotted Cassandra’s gut over all the naughty memories she’d hoarded, but there was no time to give in to self-flagellation.

She pulled the vial away and recorked it, turning towards Yulia, whose skin had drained of color. The courtesan’s bottom lip quivered, and she burst into tears, thrusting her head into Cassandra’s lap.

Cassandra startled, placing a gentle hand on the courtesan’s head and glancing towards Tristan for help. He shrugged, palms raised, lips pulled down in a questioning frown.

“Yulia?” Cassandra whispered, stroking the woman’s bouncy curls. “Are you alright?”

“I know who that is.” Yulia’s muffled words were swallowed between Cassandra’s thighs. The courtesan pulled herself upright, leaving a transparent stain from her tears on Cassandra’s nightgown.

Tristan’s eyes dipped toward Cassandra’s red panties, visible through the fabric in her lap, then darted away.

Yulia dragged her palms across her red-rimmed eyes, sniffling. “His name is Aristol; we’ve been best friends since childhood. One day, about three months ago, he showed up here and tried to convince me to leave. To come home and live with him. Said he couldn’t bear the thought of me working here, that he wanted to take care of me. I think he had some heroic idea that he was going to save me.” Yulia snorted, laughing bitterly. “He’d just gotten a job at the Delirium factory down by the harbor, on some kind of security detail.”

Cassandra sent a wide-eyed, meaningful glance towards Tristan, who nodded, encouraging her to keep Yulia talking.

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Cassandra asked, rubbing her hand down Yulia’s back.

“I didn’t… I wasn’t… he was my friend, but I’d never considered him as anything more than that. And I didn’t think I could, you know? I didn’t want to pretend to love him, even to spare his feelings. I enjoy the work I do here. He came back a few weeks ago, had saved up his wages to buy time with me. Said he was going to prove that we could be more than friends. It was horribly awkward, as you saw. He finished… quickly. And I threw that barb to push him away, make him hate me. Clearly, my plan succeeded.” Yulia let out a strangled sob.

Cassandra dared a glance at Tristan, surprised at the naked anguish pouring off him. He composed himself as soon as he caught her stare.

“Do you know where he lives?” Cassandra asked. “Does he still work for the Delirium factory? We need to speak with him. He’s a vital source of information to help us replace three missing women.”

Cassandra felt slimy, pushing her agenda when the woman was so upset. But Yulia was a total professional, pulled herself together and answered Cassandra’s questions, her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes shining.

“His family lives on Perivol Street, but I got the impression he’d moved out when he got his new job. I don’t know where. I’m sure he still works at the factory. I can’t imagine he would’ve quit because of our encounter.”

“Thank you, Yulia,” Tristan said, pulling a bag of drachas from his pocket and handing them to the overcome courtesan. “You’ve been a tremendous help. I’m sorry we upset you.”

Yulia snatched the bag. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“How’s that?” Tristan asked, intrigued.

Yulia turned to Cassandra. “Take my memory.”

A single tear crawled down Yulia’s cheek. “I want to forget, too. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. This way, I’ll only have the good memories of my kind, childhood friend. Before I broke his heart.”

Yulia’s eyes were so bereft that Cassandra could hardly refuse.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Cassandra asked. When Yulia nodded, Cassandra guided her to lay horizontally on the bed and rest her head on the edge.

Cassandra stood behind the prone courtesan, lowering her voice and bringing her hands to Yulia’s temple. “Breathe in and focus on the memory that you wish to offer to Letha the Stranger, Goddess of Oblivion.”

Yulia took a deep, stuttering breath, struggling against her clogged nose and tight corset.

Cassandra closed her eyes and began the chant. Rustling wings and shuffling feet heralded a reassuring presence behind her, then a warm hand squeezed her shoulder.

Tristan steadied her as the last of Yulia’s luminescent, golden memory flowed into her hands and evaporated into the air.

A peace settled between them, coaxed to life by the courtesan’s sad story.

Cassandra thought about how rare, how special it was to replace the kind of mutual attraction that she and Tristan shared—despite the inconvenience of its cross-species nature.

She turned and wrapped her arms around Tristan’s waist. He hugged her close, sighing contentedly and kissing the top of her head.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier,” he whispered against her hair. “The thought of us being exposed and someone harming you… I lost control.”

“I’m sorry too,” she echoed against his shirt.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Kinda turns me on to see you writhe with jealousy.”

She smacked his side, and he chuckled. “Don’t make a habit of inspiring it, Birdman.”

“I can’t help it if females replace me irresistible, Daredevil.”

She pulled back to see his wry smile.

“Sarcasm,” he whispered. “The right males understand it, remember?”

His caramel eyes softened as he gazed down at her.

“I meant what I said downstairs. You are a breathtaking woman. Not just the way you look, which is pretty fucking incredible, but your spirit, your sense of humor, the way you challenge me. Maybe it makes me a fool, but I don’t want anyone else. Even if I can’t have all of you. I’m perfectly content to be your playmate, Cassandra. I’d play with you for a thousand years.”

Her heart shattered at his confession. “I don’t have a thousand years to give you, Tristan.”

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. “I know.”

“Even if I did, you’d eventually grow tired of me.”

“Doubtful.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I don’t. But I also don’t live life avoiding the present for fear of the future. Not anymore. I have a lot of respect for Aristol. Even though it ended poorly, he went after what he wanted, consequences be damned. Sounds like someone else I know.” He pinched her nose. “In every aspect of her life except for matters of the heart. Why is that, I wonder?”

“I…,” she hesitated. “I’m not brave enough to tell you that yet.”

“Well, maybe someday we can be brave together.” He leaned down and kissed her, a feather-light meeting of their lips that made her heart race faster than his demanding kisses this morning. She sighed against his mouth. “But in the meantime, please don’t ever question my desire for you. Sure, there was a time when I wanted as many playmates as possible—”

“How is that comforting?” she barked an incredulous laugh.

“But if you’d let me finish, tiny interrupting human,” he nipped her earlobe, “I was about to say I’m not that male anymore. I’m a slightly more mature horny teenager, if you will.” She laughed again as the ice-cold shards lacerating her chest since their tiff downstairs melted away.

She buried her face against his broad chest, and he speared a hand into her hair, cupping and massaging her scalp.

“Why did you call me Ker downstairs? Isn’t she the Goddess of Violence?” she asked.

“She is—your dagger’s named after her. Told you it was badass.”

Cassandra smiled, listening to Yulia’s deep, peaceful breathing as she and Tristan held each other for a very, very long time.