Page 53 of The Guardian's Curse

Eduardo leaned forward, eyes narrowing. He smiled, but it was an eerie, ominous expression. “Was she? How would you know when she was unattended? Why did you leave when your task was crystal clear?”

His knees ached, but he didn’t budge. “I wanted to find the vampire that threatened her. Elliott McAvoy.”

“And what did you intend to do with him?”

“I...I didn’t really have a plan. I thought I might kill him and pin it on one of the hunters in town,” he said. “I called Safira for information but she refused to help me. Don’t blame her, please.”

“I’m aware of Safira’s involvement,” Eduardo said. “Have you taken any further action against McAvoy?”

He shook his head. “No, sir. And I’m sorry.”

Eduardo’s head tilted. “Why would you act alone? Why did you not trust me to handle matters of my own territory? Do you think me incompetent?”

“No, sir. It was because...” He lowered his head. “The witch was afraid. He left his mark on her, and I was infuriated that he would touch her.”

Never mind that he had nearly taken out his own anger on her, much to his shame.

Eduardo actually chuckled. “I have not heard you express anger over a lover in many years.”

Despite his keen desire, he blurted, “She’s not—”

“Regardless,” Eduardo said. “This is unacceptable. Safira steered you clear of trouble, but your intentions were clear. Had you succeeded in your original plan, you might have brought war upon us. My people would be in danger because of your selfish desires.” His eyes narrowed, and he rose, still glaring down. As his stare intensified, Alistair’s blood heated. First, it was an uncomfortable tingle, then an unbearable needling pain that made him want to claw his skin off. “I am the Elder of this Court. Do you wish to sever your loyalty to me?”

“No, sir,” he bit out, trying not to cry out as the agony crawled up his veins, down his spine, across his eyeballs. Through the blood bond, Eduardo’s fury was palpable, pulsing like a heartbeat in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You live a comfortable life at my expense. And when you are given a simple task, you will do it,” he said. “If you wanted to go hunting, you should have stayed with the Shroud.”

“But I—”

Needle-sharp pain lanced through his sinuses. He groaned, then bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Eduardo’s voice was deadly calm when he spoke again. “I will forgive this indiscretion, but my mercy comes but once. If you meddle in my affairs without my permission again, you will beg for the more pleasant days of being cursed by a witch. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” he choked. “I’m sorry.”

The terrible pain finally ceased. He felt as if he’d been scraped out, leaving a bloody husk. Eduardo’s eyes were blazing red now, like flame burning behind stained glass. “I do not have to justify my orders to you,” he said. “However, rest assured that I will deal with the Casteron vampires when I know that the fighting will not cost more than we can bear. Until then, you are to keep the witch from harm. Can you handle that?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Good,” Eduardo said. He gestured to Alistair, still scowling. “Leave.”

He scrambled to his feet and out the door. Hugo’s pale gaze followed as Alistair rushed past, covering his face in shame. Folding himself into the shadows, Alistair stalked around the upper floor until he reached the richly furnished lounge that overlooked the main floor. Just over a week ago, he’d gathered with the Shroud to drink and pretend that nothing had changed. In the dim expanse of the club below, dozens of vampires danced, drank, and debauched.

And there amidst the otherworldly creatures was a glowing flame. Entwined in Paris’s arms was Shoshanna. Light played off her beautiful brown skin, turning it into gleaming bronze. Scarlet eyes followed her, but as long as she was with Paris, no one would make a move.

He descended the stairs, in hunt of a drink. Tucked into an alcove near the bottom of the stairs, a female vampire sat in the lap of a veravin, her teeth sunk into his throat. His head was thrown back, large hand under her short dress as she fed from him.

The quiet, wet sounds of feeding made him even hungrier. The combination of his hunger and Eduardo’s power burning in his veins made a volatile mix. He felt barely contained by his ravaged skin, like his teeth were going to burst out of his jaw.

The club reeked of vampires and fresh blood. There was wine and whiskey in the air, threaded through with the musky scent of sex. And there, like a high note singing an octave above it all, was the sweet scent of one human witch. It grabbed him like a noose, and drew him toward the crowd against every instinct.

She was radiant, clearly something entirely other than the pale undead creatures around her. Her eyes gleamed as she gazed up at Paris.

In over two centuries, Alistair Thorne had never felt this writhing mess of emotions boiling up in his chest, threatening to burst from between his ribs, melting his skin. Paris’s pale fingers were a stark contrast against the rich, rosy brown of Shoshanna’s bare shoulder. As if he felt Alistair’s glare upon them, Paris leaned to whisper in Shoshanna’s ear, then spun her gracefully as he raised his head. His pale blue eyes found Alistair’s and narrowed.

A light peal of laughter, a perfect melody that filled him with desperate hunger, rang out. At the sound of it, Paris’ lips curved into a coy smile. Joy painted Shoshanna’s features with a happy glow.

Of course she was happy with him. Who wouldn’t be?

The feeling in his gut reminded him of the first days of his curse, when his body twisted and broke into something he did not recognize. There was rage, mixed with shame and regret. It needed to destroy something before it turned inward on himself. It was aimless and destructive and made no sense at all.

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