Page 71 of The Guardian's Curse

“Indeed you do. I’m one of them. Fifty-seven.”

“Alistair!”

“Pour, Shoshanna,” he teased.

With a nervous laugh, she grabbed the insulated cup she’d bought him and carefully poured the warm blood in. He reached around her, took a long drink of it, then hauled her up over his shoulder with a grunt of effort. “That wasn’t even sixty seconds!” she protested.

“I’m a musician, not a mathematician,” he replied gruffly. He carried her into her bedroom, and she shivered in anticipation. He hit the lights, and the room was plunged into near-darkness.

“You should know Paris is coming over tonight,” she said. “With books.”

“So?” His hands slid under her shirt, cupping her breasts. She sank into him as his fingers pinched lightly, teasing her nipples into hard peaks quickly. Her body sang at his command.

“So unless you’re planning to invite him to join, we either have to make this fast or wait,” she said.

“Call him and cancel,” he murmured, burying his lips in her neck.

“It’s important,” she said, writhing against him. His hands slid over her hips, and she felt the hard length of him pressing against her. “But you make a good point.”

“How long do I have to make my point?”

“Ninety minutes.”

“I can manage,” he growled.

17

The knock on the door came just four minutes after Alistair surged out of the shower, still toweling his hair dry. Upstairs, he heard the frantic patter of feet as Shoshanna yelled, “I’m coming!”

“That was earlier,” he muttered to himself. The room still smelled of sex, of Shoshanna’s rich, earthy smell and the sweetness of her skin. There was something she put in her hair that drove him wild, a mix of flowers and vanilla that made her smell of pure sunshine and light. When he held her, he remembered what it was like to walk in the sun.

He dressed quickly, donning a light hooded shirt to cover his face. One day, he told himself. But today was not that day.

After sliding on his shoes, he darted upstairs to find Paris carrying a polished wooden chest across the living room. The sharp smell of blood was in the air, and he peeked around the corner to see Shoshanna in the kitchen. Her hips swished back and forth, like she was dancing to music only she could hear.

Paris smirked and said, “I hope you didn’t hurry on my behalf.”

“No talking in German!” Shoshanna yelled from the kitchen. “I know that means you’re talking about me or keeping secrets.”

“Je suis désolé, mon sorcière,” Paris yelled back. “I was telling Alistair that I’d hoped to find you cleaning house in lingerie.”

“You missed it by five minutes,” she deadpanned. “Every day I vacuum in a French maid costume, complete with thong and thigh-highs.”

“Merde,” he drawled. Then he glanced at Alistair and mouthed, really? Alistair shrugged, savoring the awestruck look on Paris’s face. Though she was teasing, the image of Shoshanna in black and white lace was enough to stir his cock to life again.

A few minutes later, she brought both of them a glass of warmed blood. “Can I see now?”

“This weighs more than you,” Paris said. “Bring those to the library.” Alistair ran his fingers down Shoshanna’s back, then pushed her lightly down the hall to his library. There, Paris opened the big wooden chest to reveal a carefully packed array of books. The smell of dried paper and old leather drifted out.

Shoshanna’s eyes lit up as she examined the books. “I can have all of these?”

“You may borrow all of these,” Paris said. “Technically, they belong to the Court. But, if you think you can help Lucia, then you may use them as long as you need.” He leaned over and pulled out several of the books. “These are the oldest. This is hardly my area of expertise, but these are likely closest to the source. These came from Armina’s right hand, Karlotta.” He shuddered. “Unpleasant little wench.”

Her brow furrowed as she opened one of the books. “What language is this?”

Paris turned the page. “Czech,” he said. “Do you read it?”

Her expression was incredulous. “No, do you?”

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