Page 41 of The Guardian's Curse

“Oh, thank God, I’m starving,” Paris said. He brushed past Shoshanna and took down a glass. She was still stirring, but he took the pan from her and poured himself a full glass of blood. His tailored suit jacket had been discarded to reveal a blood-splattered white shirt. Rolled-up sleeves revealed tattoos of stylized swords on each lean forearm. “Did you stake him?”

“Jesus, no,” she said.

He rinsed his hands in the sink, then took another long drink. “Someone did. Knew what they were doing, too. Smells like white ash. Nice and poisonous.”

“Hunters?” Dominic asked.

“Probably,” Paris said. “He’s not talking.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know how to brew a nouvelle vie? You mix it with fresh blood to help a vampire heal.”

“I’ve heard of it, but never made one,” she said. Her dad had made them constantly for the Casteron, and she had all of his old magic journals. “I can find out how. I think they’re pretty easy.”

“Do it today,” Paris said. He spoke quietly to Dominic, then poured another glass of blood, draining her pan. A few drops dripped onto the clean counter, but he ignored them.

Men.

“Um...are you going to explain what happened?” she said, grabbing a towel to clean up his mess.

He turned, his expression confused. As if they weren’t all avoiding the cursed elephant in the room. “What?”

“You lied to me about Alistair,” she said. “And I could have killed him by accident.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Your aim isn’t that good,” Paris replied.

“Paris,” she said flatly.

The sky blue of his eyes had darkened to red from his feeding. He scowled. “You are not entitled to know our secrets.”

“We were all cursed,” Dominic said quietly. Paris spoke rapidly in German, but Dominic cut him off. “Enough! She has been dragged into our misery, and your pretending otherwise serves no one.” Maybe she’d been wrong in so quickly choosing Team Paris.

“Alistair told me that you were cursed by a Night Weaver,” she said.

Paris’s eyebrows lifted. “Told you...meaning he spoke to you? Willingly?”

She nodded. “We’ve been playing the piano together,” she said, cheeks warming. “Sometimes we chat. He wouldn’t tell me much. He said it was your secret to tell.”

Paris blinked rapidly, then glanced at Dominic. Then he shook himself. “He’s right. No, we don’t want to tell you.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “But I want to try to break the curse. Starting with Lucia.”

Paris’s jaw dropped. “What do you know of Lucia?”

“Just that she was a woman who loved one of you,” she said. “And that she doesn’t deserve to be a statue.”

Dominic scowled. “Your priority is protecting this place, not chasing flights of fancy.”

“I can do both,” she said.

“Better witches than you have tried,” he said, taking a long stride toward her. He loomed over her, red eyes glaring down at her.

“Then you’ll have to let them know when I do what they couldn’t,” she snapped. Dominic’s eyes narrowed. She shook her head and stepped around him. “I need to go apologize to Alistair.”

Paris headed her off. “Not a good idea. He’s in pain, and he won’t be happy to see you.”

“So I just wait?”

“You just wait. There is plenty of work for you to do here while he nurses his wounded ego,” Paris said. He glanced at his watch and swore. “We don’t have time to get home. I’ll call for a veravin for him tomorrow. He’ll need to feed when he wakes up, and a blood bag won’t do the job.”

“I can do it,” she blurted.

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