Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

“I don’t think so,” a Chasseur snarled. “Not this time.”

“Your father won’t be pleased, Victoire.”

“My father can swallow an egg!”

“This isn’t right,” another child cried. “Remove your hands at once. That’s our brother in there, and he hasn’t done anything wrong—”

Their voices faded as the Chasseurs dragged them away.

“Violette and Victoire.” Reid stared at the door as if sheer will alone might open it. At the intensity of his gaze, I might’ve believed it too. “They sprang us from the dungeon before La Mascarade les Crânes.”

“Follow the memory,” I said desperately. If even the king’s daughters couldn’t enter Chasseur Tower unimpeded, the chances of others doing so had just vanished in a puff of smoke.

“What?”

“You want to remember. This is how.” Unable to escape this hideous prison, ignorant of the time, of our friends, of our very lives, this suddenly became the most important thing in the world. The most urgent one. He had to remember. If we were going to die at sunset, he had to remember me. The wager, the seduction, the plan—it all fell away in light of this one critical moment. “Follow it forward or backward until you hit a wall. Then push.”

His mouth twisted grimly. “I—I’ve tried. These past few days—I’ve done nothing but try to piece it back together.”

“Try again. Try harder.”

“Lou—”

I crushed his hands in my own. “What if they don’t come?”

He clutched mine with equal fervor, his voice low and ferocious as he pulled me closer. “They will.”

“What if they can’t? What if they fail to sneak inside undetected? What if they have to fight? What if Claud can’t intervene, or they were captured at the castle, or—” My eyes widened in alarm. “What if they’re already dead?”

“Stop, stop.” He seized my face, bending low to look me directly in the eye. “Breathe. Tell me what to do.”

It took a moment to collect myself, to calm my racing heart. He waited patiently, his thumbs kneading my temples. The intimacy of the gesture both agitated and soothed me. At last, I pulled away and said, “After Violette and Victoire rescued you from the dungeons, you returned to Léviathan. Do you remember that?”

He shadowed my footsteps. “Yes. I took a bath.”

“And then?”

“And then I”—his face contorted—“I spoke with Claud. I told him about my mother’s capture.”

Lacing my fingers through his, I shook my head. “You didn’t. ‘They took her, Lou. They took my mother, and she’s not coming back.’ That’s what you told me.”

He stared at me, nonplussed. “What happened next?”

“You tell me.” When he said nothing, only stared, I reached up to kiss his cheek. His arms wrapped around my waist. “After I took Bas’s memories,” I whispered against his skin, “I didn’t realize what I’d done until I saw him again. There were these—these gaps in my thoughts. I didn’t scrub him away completely, only the romantic moments, but he didn’t recognize me at all. I had to find a trigger to help me remember—one memory to spark the rest.”

He pulled back to look at me. “But that could be anything.”

“For me, it was the moment I met Bas in Soleil et Lune.”

“Where did I meet you?”

“Outside of Pan’s patisserie.” I spun him toward the lock hastily. “Imagine a door. You were blocking the whole thing like a giant asshole, watching Beau’s homecoming parade in the street.” He turned to scowl at me over his shoulder. “What? You were. It was completely discourteous. I tried to move past you”—I imitated the movement—“but there wasn’t room for both of us. You ended up turning and nearly breaking my nose with your elbow.” When he pivoted to face me in real time, I lifted his elbow and snapped my head back, pantomiming the injury. “Does any of this ring a bell?”

He looked thoroughly miserable. “No.”

Fuck. “Maybe this isn’t your trigger.” I fought to keep my voice even. “It could be something else—like when you chased me in Soleil et Lune, or when we married on the bank of the Doleur, or—or when we had sex for the first time on the rooftop.”

His eyes narrowed. “We consummated our relationship on a rooftop?”

I nodded swiftly. Too swiftly. “Soleil et Lune again. It was so cold—try to imagine it. The wind on your bare skin.”

When fresh guards popped in to check on us, we ignored them, and after a taunt or two, they left. The clock ticked onward. Every second, it brought us closer to sunset. No other shouts rose from the corridor. No second rescue attempt. Where were they? Reid shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face as he paced. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“But you—I’ve seen you as you’ve started to remember. I’ve seen the pain in your expression. It hurts.”

He threw his arms in the air, growing more and more frustrated. Or perhaps flustered. Perhaps both. “Those times have been few and far between, and even then, when I try to push through—to follow the memory—it’s like I’m jumping into a void. There’s nothing there. No wall to break. No door to open or lock to pick or window to smash. The memories are just gone.”